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I became a widow nearly 4 years ago. Many of us are widows, having lost spouses or significant others and it is a uniquely devastating event, something that must be lived to be understood.

You are left to tie up all the loose ends of a life that in many cases has been rich and full and vibrant. The funeral comes and goes, the relatives and friends slowly stop coming by or calling. The kids go back to their lives, school. You try to do the same but there is still much to be done and by god, those bill collectors are going to make sure that you get them done!

I never liked bill collectors, have always thought that they are a special breed all unto themselves a breed that in many cases should become extinct. I have had to deal with bill collectors before and don't like it, no sir I don't, but I have never had to deal with them in the capacity of a grieving widow attempting to say in as many ways as I can to make the person on the other end of the phone attempting to collect a debt from a dead man, that he is....dead.

I was about a month widowed and in that transitional phase that all widow and widowers go through, the phase when shock wears off the the reality of just what has happened comes along slaps you in the face, knocks you down and stomps hard on your stomach when I got the phone call that I still scratch my head over. I don't know if these people are just so locked into a script that their employer insists that they follow that they just don't comprehend that the person they are talking to might just MIGHT have something to say of value in the matter, or if they are just that unintelligent.

It was the middle of the afternoon. I had just finished washing the last of my late husbands clothes that I had let sit in the dirty clothes hamper, because I just could not face them. The phone rang and so I picked it up, blissfully unaware of the totally incredible and redundant conversation that was to follow.

ME: Hello?

COLLECTOR Is Mr. Jeff T* available please

ME: May I ask who is calling?

COLLECTOR: My name is Ms. blah blah from XYZ credit card company.

ME: I see, Jeff T* has died.

COLLECTOR: Ma'am I really need to speak with Mr T* when will he be available?

ME: errrr. Huh?

COLLECTOR: I need to speak with Mr T* its important

ME: I know I heard that, I am just not sure you understand here... (getting a little irritated at this point)

COLLECTOR: [interrupting] when will he be back

ME: never

COLLECTOR So he no longer lives at this phone number?

ME: um yes, you could say that.

COLLECTOR: Well can you give me a number where he is at?

ME: I don't know the number (getting more irate and evil thoughts swirling in my head)He is at the BLAH BLAH Cemetery

COLLECTOR: He works at the BLAH BLAH Cemetery?

ME: No, he lives there.

COLLECTOR: ...He lives in a cemetery?

ME: Well I would have liked to put him in the backyard, but they have laws against such things. Besides I am quite sure you can won't be able to get him on the phone at the cemetery anyway.

COLLECTOR: {long quiet pause and then...} He is homeless?!

ME: Oh no, he has a very nice home, made of high polished cherry wood, silk lined, gold trim. Its a bit small, but your money just doesn't go as far as it used to when buying a casket, and do you think that he would appreciate it? Damn men, I haven't heard a word from him since I laid him in it a month ago, isn't that the way it always is, sister?

COLLECTOR: Ma'am are you saying that Jeff T* has passed away?!

ME: Why yes, yes I think I am...just like I told you at the beginning of this ludicrous conversation.

COLLECTOR: [hangs up]

I hadn't laughed since Jeff passed away, but you bet I did that day! I never heard from XYZ credit card company again.

Learn more about this author, Pamela Rodriguez.
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