Before I go on, I want to make it clear that I am grateful for everything he’s done for me and everything he left me. Really grateful. Believe me. But sorting through it is another story.
Take his house. Please. He left me his house in New York – the house I grew up in. I definitely didn’t want to live there. Too many bad memories. So when he died, I put his house up for sale.
On the way back to Seattle, I got a text from my Realtor. None of the keys I’d given her worked in the locks. She wanted my permission to hire a locksmith. So we did. He broke in and changed the locks. Fine.