And I mean that in more ways than one. I’ve been writing about mum’s lead up to death yesterday in the Dementia section, basically as a form of therapy; and it’s really helped.
But I don’t think that’s appropriate anymore as mum, who had dementia (amongst other things) is now dead. So I’ve started a new topic.
I’m still registering that mum is dead. Just one example. Dad wanted to know some detail of one of mum’s relatives. I didn’t know, so said, “We’d better ask mum.”
A few seconds later it hits you in the stomach that you can’t because she’s dead.
As if emotionally registering the death of a loved one you’ve cared for 24/7 for nearly 3 years isn’t bad enough, you then have to physically register the death.
This should be a simple enough process. But for dad and me, the god’s of burocracy (I’ve given up on the spell checker for that word) decided otherwise… it’s been an absolute bloody nightmare. I’ve had the help and backing of the Coroner in trying to sort this out, and I don’t think it being Christmas helped.
I’d better start at the beginning.
Mum died, doctor confirms death, we can pick up Death Certificate at 3pm, which dad picked up.
I then ring the register’s office to book an appointment (you can’t just turn up there) and managed to secure the last slot for 10.30am today.
As far as I understand it, once the death has been registered, you get some green paper which you give to the Funeral directors which means they can go ahead and prepare mum for viewing. Also you get copies of the DC (Death Certificate) for banks and stuff.
Dad and me turn up at the Registers Office. All is going well until this lady sticks her head around the door and mentions something to do with coroner.
The lady dealing with us apologises and rings back the coroner. Dad and me shrug at one another thinking it’s got nothing to do with us.
Then she mentioned mum’s name. I felt like I’d been hit by electricity.
She refused to enter the death because the doc had put heart failure as cause of death, and that’s not good enough.
We were sent away with a bunch of phone numbers.
I was reeling a bit at this point, but I told dad on the way back to drop me off at the funeral directors so I could let them know of this complication, and he was to get onto the blower to the health centre ASAP.
It now gets really manic. I still don’t know what really happened. When I got back all sorts of phone calls had been happening everywhere. Doctors ringing the coroner, the coroner ringing the register office… you name it.
I could see my father sinking so I took the phone of him and spoke to the coroner myself.
At some point, I don’t know where, we’d been booked another appointment with the registry office.
To his credit, he did apologise for the communication breakdown.
He then wanted to hold an inquest, which meant he’d have to do some stuff over phone and then turn up at some court by 2pm (it was 12.40pm at this point.)
My gut instinct screamed NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I asked him wouldn’t it be simpler just for him to ask the doc to issue us with a correctly worded Death Certificate, and we turn up for our new appointment and take it from there.
He pulled his weigh, and we now have a new Death Certificate. Dad picked it up at 1.30pm.
There’s nothing we can do with it till Tuesday; but were getting there.
There was a bit when I was talking to coroner that went a bit mad; I was shushing my dad.
He wanted to know where my mum was born. I said Ipswich. He wanted to know how that was spelt.
I replied, “I put some water in Chalie’s hat.”
Mum came out with that whenever we couldn’t spell Ipswich.
It’s weird the things that jump into your mind.
Anyway, we’ve now got a new death certificate, plus the full details of the coroner if the registry office tries to give us more grief.
I think normal grief is enough.
But I don’t think that’s appropriate anymore as mum, who had dementia (amongst other things) is now dead. So I’ve started a new topic.
I’m still registering that mum is dead. Just one example. Dad wanted to know some detail of one of mum’s relatives. I didn’t know, so said, “We’d better ask mum.”
A few seconds later it hits you in the stomach that you can’t because she’s dead.
As if emotionally registering the death of a loved one you’ve cared for 24/7 for nearly 3 years isn’t bad enough, you then have to physically register the death.
This should be a simple enough process. But for dad and me, the god’s of burocracy (I’ve given up on the spell checker for that word) decided otherwise… it’s been an absolute bloody nightmare. I’ve had the help and backing of the Coroner in trying to sort this out, and I don’t think it being Christmas helped.
I’d better start at the beginning.
Mum died, doctor confirms death, we can pick up Death Certificate at 3pm, which dad picked up.
I then ring the register’s office to book an appointment (you can’t just turn up there) and managed to secure the last slot for 10.30am today.
As far as I understand it, once the death has been registered, you get some green paper which you give to the Funeral directors which means they can go ahead and prepare mum for viewing. Also you get copies of the DC (Death Certificate) for banks and stuff.
Dad and me turn up at the Registers Office. All is going well until this lady sticks her head around the door and mentions something to do with coroner.
The lady dealing with us apologises and rings back the coroner. Dad and me shrug at one another thinking it’s got nothing to do with us.
Then she mentioned mum’s name. I felt like I’d been hit by electricity.
She refused to enter the death because the doc had put heart failure as cause of death, and that’s not good enough.
We were sent away with a bunch of phone numbers.
I was reeling a bit at this point, but I told dad on the way back to drop me off at the funeral directors so I could let them know of this complication, and he was to get onto the blower to the health centre ASAP.
It now gets really manic. I still don’t know what really happened. When I got back all sorts of phone calls had been happening everywhere. Doctors ringing the coroner, the coroner ringing the register office… you name it.
I could see my father sinking so I took the phone of him and spoke to the coroner myself.
At some point, I don’t know where, we’d been booked another appointment with the registry office.
To his credit, he did apologise for the communication breakdown.
He then wanted to hold an inquest, which meant he’d have to do some stuff over phone and then turn up at some court by 2pm (it was 12.40pm at this point.)
My gut instinct screamed NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
I asked him wouldn’t it be simpler just for him to ask the doc to issue us with a correctly worded Death Certificate, and we turn up for our new appointment and take it from there.
He pulled his weigh, and we now have a new Death Certificate. Dad picked it up at 1.30pm.
There’s nothing we can do with it till Tuesday; but were getting there.
There was a bit when I was talking to coroner that went a bit mad; I was shushing my dad.
He wanted to know where my mum was born. I said Ipswich. He wanted to know how that was spelt.
I replied, “I put some water in Chalie’s hat.”
Mum came out with that whenever we couldn’t spell Ipswich.
It’s weird the things that jump into your mind.
Anyway, we’ve now got a new death certificate, plus the full details of the coroner if the registry office tries to give us more grief.
I think normal grief is enough.