The Way I See It

The lighter side of grief
By Doug Dickerson

I wish people who have trouble communicating would just shut up.

-Tom Lehrer

My mother recently shared a humorous story with me that occurred in the aftermath of my father's death. I share this not to be disrespectful of my father, whom I loved dearly, but because my dad would appreciate the humor of what happened.

Dad had a great sense of humor, a natural way of putting others at ease, and always enjoyed a good laugh. I loved dad dearly, and miss him terribly, and I suppose sharing my thoughts with you is cheaper than therapy.

Mom called the local department of motor vehicle office back home to ask what she needed to do about changing the name on the title of her car. An attendant answered and the conversation began. "My husband died and I need to know what to do about changing the names on the title. I need to take his name off the title," she explained.

Of all the requests that come into any DMV office, this request seemed simple and uncomplicated. "You will need to bring him in and have him sign the paper to transfer the title into your name," said the woman on the other end of the phone. Obviously, she did not grasp the impossibility of the request and certainly underestimated with whom she was dealing.

Not missing a beat, mom kept her composure and began again. "Let's begin this conversation over because evidently you did not hear me, my husband died...," she explained once again. The second time was the charm and what should have been simple the first time became clear.

A few years back mom was entangled with another scenario when a doctor's office from a town 100 miles away called to explain how they had received Medicare payments on her behalf for eye services she had not received. The doctor's office knew that she hadn't been there, mom knew it too. Yet the good folks at Medicare insisted she had. Back to the phone my mom went. Mom made futile attempts to convince the folks at Medicare that everyone but they knew that she'd never been a patient at this doctor's office. Medicare insisted she had been. "Ma'am, we are the United States government and we do not make mistakes," said the voice on the other end of the phone. Eventually mom convinced the United States Government otherwise. The government's record of not making a mistake was broken with her. If only they had gone to that eye doctor, they would have seen that one coming.

Knowing what we want to communicate and successfully doing it, at times, are two different things. One of the things I learned from my dad was that more words are not necessarily better, and it's not always what you say but how you say it that matters.

Dad not only learned the secret to a happy and contented life, he also shared it. His words were a reflection of his heart and his heart was full of love, kindness, laughter, and faith.

I could imagine dad listening in on mom's conversation with the woman at the department of motor vehicles and thinking how funny it was.

Not a day goes by that I don't see or hear something funny and not think, "Dad would love this," or when I am stressed out over something, knowing I could talk it over with him and come away knowing that everything was going to be fine. That was just his way.

The next time I am in line at the DMV, I'll be thinking of him, I'm sure he will be smiling!

Doug can be reached at editor@berkeleyind.com

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