Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [51]
I lifted Madeline out of her car seat and held her in my arms, talking to her about where we were. I’d been doing that since I’d brought her home, talking to her like she was an adult who couldn’t see or hear what was going on around her. I probably sounded like a complete lunatic to those around me as I laid out the scene for my newborn. The old women moved closer to us.
“You have such a beautiful baby. Is it a boy or a girl?”
I thought that to be an odd question, considering Madeline was covered in pink from the neck down.
“It’s a girl, and its name is Madeline,” I said snidely, already pissed off at them based on the story I’d made up in my head. I could tell they completely missed the fact that I was patronizing them—old people often didn’t understand my sense of humor.
The women took turns touching her cheeks and cooing at her with the kind of baby talk I’d sworn I’d never use with my child. Thankfully, before Madeline’s brain was fully turned to mush by their inane chatter, my name was called. Someone led us through a doorway and directed me to sit down at a desk across from a young woman who shook my hand, introducing herself with a name I forgot immediately. Without making eye contact or acknowledging the baby I held, she began to read from a sheet of paper in front of her. Just as the financial adviser had promised, she informed me that I was eligible for a onetime payout.
“The Social Security Administration will directly deposit two hundred fifty-five dollars into your bank account…”
Two hundred fifty-five dollars? That’s it?? Two hundred fifty-five dollars??? Are you fucking kidding me? I tried to find a proper response to the woman’s words. No amount would have taken away the pain of Liz’s death—but seriously, couldn’t they have at least given me enough to buy a couple of month’s worth of diapers?
During my internal rant, I missed the end of her script. I zoned back in when she finally asked if I had all of the necessary paperwork to get my benefits claim started.
“I hope so,” I said, trying to lighten up the mood. I reached into Madeline’s diaper bag to grab the manila folder full of documents that had come to rule the last few weeks of my life. I handed her Madeline’s birth certificate and Social Security card, but hesitated before pulling out Liz’s death certificate—the grim reminder that the two most important dates in my life will forever be connected.
I didn’t want to give her the death certificate; I didn’t want to show it to anyone. It was a private thing, and it took an emotional toll on me every time I had to watch another bureaucrat scan it for information. I hated that the death certificate would now be the defining document of Liz’s life. And really, I didn’t need to be reminded that my wife was dead; the emptiness in my heart was reminder enough.
I wondered if I could get away with not handing it over—after all, I was able to describe its every last line by heart. I knew every square inch of it like it was the ceiling in my childhood bedroom, and I knew every word like it was my favorite poem. I could tell this woman that the seal of the state of California was in the lower left corner of the document, and that the city of Pasadena was incorporated in June 1886, according to the city seal found in the lower right corner. I could tell her that Evonne D. Reed was the coroner who signed it, and that Takashi M. Wada, M.D., was listed as the health officer at the bottom. I could describe in great detail the way the colors faded from pink to blue from both the left and the right sides, and the ornate patterns created by the blue and white lines bordering the entire paper. I could tell her that in Box 8 was the number 1511, noting Liz’s time of death at 3:11 p.m., and that Box 41 listed the letters CR/RES, indicating that she had been cremated and that her remains had been removed from the state. I could tell her that Box 107 listed two causes of death,