A loved one has passed, and for many the right of ownership to personal property is clear. I think people in general do not have ill intent of heart and when a loved one passes away the deceased party’s final wishes are upheld. Maybe it is wishful thinking. I hope that no one else has (or is having) to deal with the unfortunate circumstances of thieves-- but my life is strife with them. Nothing speaks more highly of the individuals claiming to love your loved one than those who pillage and plunder his belongings not even an hour after his departure. It takes a special kind of scavenger to be so cruel but alas, they exist.
Not a mere hour after his body was carted away the scavengers and vultures that surrounded my father in his final moments circled. The prize? His valuables and those personal possessions that could be used as leverage against his family and friends. In a blink of an eye, my father’s possessions were taken from him. His long time quasi girlfriend and her klan of bandits raided the home he lived in. Easily liquefiable assets such as loose gemstones, family jewelry and guns….gone—packed up into the back of a hatchback coupe. Family pictures and gifts given to him by his children are hoarded away, locked into containers on property that his kids cannot access. His joint bank accounts are emptied.
As the final items were locked away, tears filled their eyes and sobs jumped down their throats, phone calls were placed to his children to inform us of our father’s passing. Words of love and other condolences are given by the klan; but no such word, mention or breath is offered that they also robbed the man they claimed to love so dearly. It was a crime of convenience really, as both my brother and I live in different states.
We flew in from across the country to mourn our father, handle his remains, and safeguard whatever belongings our father left. As much as I wish it were not true, my brother and I were sheep and blind to the harrowing truth that we encountered. Two lambs led to the den by a monster in wolf’s clothing—a.k.a. dad’s longtime girlfriend. Within 24 hours of our father’s passing, my brother and I arrive and are met with cold shoulders and stonewalls. The small ultra-religious community in which my father lived has closed ranks around their own ‘kind’.
There are no softly spoken condolences, no hugs, no words of encouragement offered by the community or from the klan of bandits—but there are demands. Demands for rights to see the deceased, demands for a public funeral, demands for his ashes and demands that his children go away empty handed with not even a picture of their deceased loved one. Our father’s personal property is held as leverage against us in a game of tit for tat. Allow them access to the body and maybe we can get part of our family’s heirlooms back. Roll out the big top, pay for the dancing bears, and put on a circus of a public funeral and give over rights to his ashes and maybe, just maybe, we can have our family’s pictures and other belongings. The actions of the girlfriend and her klan, their demands and behaviors leave a rank and rotten taste in my mouth. They seek to maximize and capitalize on my dad’s death, always looking for ways to endear themselves in their community in a pathetic attempt to seek out cash and food donations. Their actions are sick, twisted and cruel to a level that many cannot fathom.
Cops from two local authorities were called, attorneys were consulted, and in the end my brother and I made a difficult decision. As our father had no will in place at the time of death, we decided to keep our father’s ashes and were forced to leave without our childhood items, without our family pictures, and without the final belongings of our mother and father. In their game of tit for tat, in exchange to view our father’s body before cremation my brother and I are given a few pieces of heirloom family jewelry and an antique .22 revolver. The parting blow was a warning to play nice, as that in addition to our childhood belongings and our father’s belongings, they now also possess our mother’s remaining items that our father held in storage. Within 3 days my brother and I lost a father, have all possessions held for ransom, and are cruelly kicked in the gut with memories of the loss of our mother as well. It would seem that not-everyone is as kind of heart as my brother and I are. My cup has ran over as my patience runs dry.
We keep our legal options in mind as we sit and ponder what in the world our father was thinking when he invited this nest of vipers into our lives. Having family pictures, my childhood stamp collection, my baby book, and my mother’s wedding dress would be nice to have to share with future generations and to look upon to reflect and remember events and stories. But even without them I still have my memories and those cannot be taken away. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise as the experience makes me value more the memories I have and not the tangible items that would add clutter to my life. The jury is out and likely will be for a while.