little brother died, part two

So, here I am, next of kin to a suicide case in Las Vegas; no wife or children to speak to and say, "here ya go; you handle it; you're it!". Joan is home in Calif with eye problems, awaiting surgery; other brother has been estranged from little brother for many years... I think the last time they saw each other was in 1984 when Dad died. Thank God my husband has agreed to be in LV with me and go through this experience with me. Our kids want to be here for us, to support us, but their circumstances with their families call for them to stay home and keep on with their lives. Our LV friends have offered so much support, and wish to accompany us as we go through the steps of settling things. It will be a learning experience for us all.

Tuesday (April 20) we go out to breakfast with our friends. 2 calls come in on my cell: Davis Mortuary is still bugging Joan about what to do with John's body,(first they ask her what to do with her father's body; she says he died in '84 and she's pretty sure they don't have HIS body) she tells the guy John isn't even with them, the guys says "oh, wait a minute" and puts her on hold so she hangs up. jackasses! Mr M calls telling me Mz A is begging for a viewing of John so she can tell him a proper goodbye, and Mr M would take her if I can arrange a viewing. I think "well, didn't you already do that in your 'dear john' letter ?" But then I think I need to be kind and will look into this, although who would want to see a corpse with a GSW to the head? Unless you're a CSI freak, But people are damn weird, if they are anything... so I call the mortuary guy. The guy at NV Funeral Services tells me it would cost $150-200 extra to fix John up for viewing, and it would take a lot of time and delay cremation. Only I can authorize this, no one else can even if they pay. I leave a message for Mr M that I won't pay this extra money, and he says he can't pay either. So I tell him to tell Mz A "no". Later I get a voice mail from Mz A crying, begging me to let her view John's body and that she has the "$200 to restore his face". Then I get damn mad at the balls she has to ask this, decide there is no way I will let this happen and that she can just say goodbye to a freakin box of ashes later on sometime. I do not want to talk to her, so I ask Mike to leave Mr M a message that we've decided her request is unreasonable and won't be done. He leaves the message for Mr M to pass on to Mz A, and that matter is settled as far as we are concerned.

We all 4 go to the Public Administrators (PA) Office at 1 PM for our appointment. There is a huge sign that says right off the bat there is a $150 charge for ANY PA services, and I think "geez, I hope they take my Visa". About 1:20 PM we are called into a small office off the waiting room, there are 4 chairs so we all sit down and a lady begins to let us know what was taken by the PA investigator from John's house. All she has is in one 8 1/2x11 clasp envelope. Can't be much I think.

First I have to sign a paper stating I am John's legal next-of-kin and that I have the right to receive property of John's. If I am a fake, I will have to pay to his estate 3 times the value of what I heist. But this don't scare me none, so I sign the legal paper.
The PA lady then empties the envelope on the desk and item by item and checks off the content as she shows me what is there: a bag of coins, check books from bank and credit union, car and home keys, gun registration card, a paper with xeroxed charge cards but not the cards themselves, and 2 watches. Then she says, "We found 211 dollars and kept our $150 fee and you'll get a check in the next few weeks for the balance".
I think I asked a few questions as Mike took notes, but I can't recall what I asked. We were given the name and number of the lady who is a manager at Archie Grant Housing area where John lived. We should let her know if we go to John's home. There is no will we're told so we can dispose of his stuff as we see fit. He was in public housing, on public assistance and disability, and other than the contents of his house, had only a car. I'm pretty weepy by now, so we thank her and leave with the envelope of all the PA investigator cared to take as "valuables". I think: 58 years and your valuable stuff is put into ONE STICKIN ENVELOPE?? Then I recall that we are laying up treasure in Heaven, not on this Earth, and I am comforted by this thought. And I recall telling ol' rich Uncle Frank once that a shroud has no pockets. It's the same for a rich man as it is for a poor man.

After leaving the PA office, we walk next door to the Coroners Office. I give the case number and ask if there is anything we need to do next. I am told I can get 3 reports in 2-4 weeks for $40 if I want the Medical Examiner, toxicology and autopsy reports. I say I'll think about it, but later decided to not order them. I forget to ask for a copy of the suicide note, but perhaps it was just the living will or advance directive John wrote before dying. It would be useless now anyway.

We then head to NV Funeral Services, a little building out on Fremont Street. The owner is a nice guy named Steve who spends about an hour with us (me, Mike and our friend Syl) filling out papers, putting the $506 charge on our Visa, and telling stories. I like him and feel at ease there in a tiny room filled with small demo caskets and expensive urns. That don't scare me none. Steve of course tries to sell me a fancy box, and when I say (three times) that I'll just have the ashes in the cheapest plastic box please, he writes "plastic" on the order instruction form and it is settled. He has to call in info to the LV Clark County recorders office, and then death certificates can be bought, but that'll take a few days. We'll have to go to the LV Records office to get the certs. I give him Mr M's name to put down as another person who has permission to pick up the ashes or "cremains" as they're known; since we cannot bury John at the Veteran's cemetery with Mom, we have to find another place. Steve says the coroner may release the body the next day and then cremation will take place. He tells us each mortuary owns their own crematorium, and he finally got permission to have his crematorium here at his building, so now he won't have to go across town anymore to do his work. Maybe by Friday, he says, the ashes will be ready. (But the fol owing Monday when I call about picking up the ashes, we're told John has not yet been cremated.) All siblings have to sign permission for Steve to cremate so he asks about any other siblings. I tell of my twin, and estranged other brother; he says "well, in NV the majority rules, so I just need your sister to fax permission then I'll do it. Two out of three of you is acceptable." Later that day we call Joan and Kim and they deal with the faxing and notarizing. Luckily Kim has recently gotten her notary status and she is a big help to us.

We go by John's housing complex on the way home, see his car is still there, and I note a cemetery filled with flowers on graves is just around the block from his home. Note to self: call this place, it is in a crappy part of town and probably will be cheap. (I am so damn ignorant.)

Wednesday morning I'm up early to make calls I'd determined the night before to make. Sleep doesn't come easy as things swirl through my head and I know I have to get through this nightmare and back to work next week. I call the cemetery by John's house and ask what a cremation plot would cost. The lady on the phone coughs a smokers cough, clears her throat and rattles off a litany of costs that eventually total over $1500! There's the cost of the plot, opening AND closing of the hole costs, outer box cost (it's the law she says) place marker cost depending on what I want, ... carrying of box to grave cost, setting box in hole cost, chairs cost, rent of chapel or memorial room cost, undefined cemetery licence fees, tax and gratuity, air tax, sun tax, Mayor Goodman's special fees... etc etc. I jest, but it was RIDICULOUS!!! and I was shocked! So I hung up and thought, if Mike and I drive home at midnight to LA I can just open the box when we're off Zzyxx Road off the I-15
and let John blow in the wind! geeeeeeezzzzzzz. Thanks a lot for making sure you had everything covered before you blew yourself away, Kid.

I call Screen Actors Guild with John's member number to let them know he's dead, and to ask about residuals because Mr M told me they are given in perpetuity and I need to settle this matter. But after papers are sent to me, there will be a 40 day waiting period before I can sign and notarize and return the papers. Another hurry up and wait situation.
I try to call Social Security office but no real person will take the call, so I give up and make a note to visit the Soc Sec office which is out in North LV.

I call LV Metro Police and give the case number and ask to speak to the detective on the case. I'm told it is a Det "B" but there are 4 or 5 of same name and did I know if it is a lady or a man who investigated. How the hell would I know, I think, but i say "no, don't know; don't you know?" I am given a number of the detective who the person on the phone thinks may have been the one, but when I call that number, the voicemail box is full and I can't leave a message. Oh great. Need plan B to deal with the police.
We go to John's bank but find out we cannot be told anything until we have submitted a death certificate and wait 40 days. I suspect this gives all the places he owes money to time to try to collect what they're owed from his account. I know he is about 8 K in debt; the collectors can fight over the $29.99 left in his account... IF there is that much even.

Wednesday afternoon I let the lady at Archie Grant know we will be going into John's house and we have permission as next of kin to do so. She says she's so sorry for our loss and John never gave her any problems and he seemed like such a nice guy. The complex is made up of cinder block (?) one-story four-plexes and is public, crowded housing. read POOR. I feel like it is a foreign country we enter.
We go, 4 of us; first we unlock John's car and the trunk to look for papers. A black lady comes across the lot from another four-plex to say she'd buy the car for $500 cash right now. She was a friend of John's and always "liked his car". I tell her John's friend will sell it later, after Saturday. (We'd set up Sat at 10 am to meet Mr M at John's to clean stuff out together. Mz A's grown son would be there Sat as well because John had promised him furniture.) John's car ashtray is full of ashes and cig butts; he'd kicked that habit a few times but guess it never was permanent. We note a few other people on porches watching us, and I think I see Mike standing up a bit taller and note him speaking in his deepest voice possible. I say a prayer for protection and hope it's not noted that I am crippled, use a cane, and couldn't beat off a fly if I tried. !! joke.


When we enter the home, it reeks of cig smoke, ash trays and cat poop. It's musty and very dusty and cluttered with lots of stuff piled on the bed and a living room table piled with papers and unopened mail. We each take a different "station" to start sorting through stuff, making trash bags and "take to look through later" bags. We find some old journals I want to read, some pretty decent looking afghans I know Mom made, Mom's coin collection and tea pot, and the Danish Ceramic Dogs Mom always had on her mantle, some CD's, and other assorted junk I think I recognize and want to look through. John had brought a lot of Mom and Cis's stuff to his house when they each had to go into nursing homes. I am mostly interested in photos and journals. I take mail thinking to let bill collectors know John has died, and there will be 15 or so of them to notify. We found a paper that he'd been to a debt counsellor in Dec, and we found receipts from University Med Center Clinic for health visits recently. The papers note diagnoses of Hep C, cirrhosis, a skin problem, and arthritis; he needed knee surgery and was on many meds for depression, anxiety and sleep and pain relief. Nice assorted combo to go along with whatever street stuff he stayed on for years.

Soon some skeleton of a cig-smoking woman with a yapping little dog who wanted to attack someone (but he's on a leash) walks in, walks over to a poster on the wall and says, "sorry about John, can I take this poster? John and I met at this play and it would mean so much to me to have this". It was a shitty little magazine-page-like poster, but I said "No, nothing can be taken or sold from here until Saturday" so she tells me to save it for her then stands in the room and smokes and talks. I finally ask her to smoke outside before I start coughing, but it is too late, I've waited too long and have a coughing spasm. Then I tell the others we shouldn't let anyone else in; they can wait for Saturday. And I didn't let her take the poster thinking that it'd only take 5 seconds and the whole Archie Grant complex population would be clamoring to come in and take shit. Mike finds a cane with a knob on the top that'd make a good noggin-whopper and keeps it near himself to use as a weapon PRN. Thank God for Mike. 2 or 3 more people come to the door saying "sorry about John shooting himself, can I have some furniture?" The vultures circle.

After about 1 1/2 hours, we close up and leave. The lady who wants the car runs over to carry boxes and won't take no for an answer when Mike tells her to leave them be. She hands me her name and phone numbers and reminds me she has $500 for the car... cash money. She retreats to a porch overlooking the parking lot, and will probably sleep there with one eye open on that car until she can buy it. Mr M had told me he and his wife had given John that car 4 years ago, and I told him then he can have it back to sell or keep. It won't be my problem. Later I will learn the DMV won't do anything with a dead person's car for 41 days after death. So the car sale is still in limbo as I write this.

Thursday morning it rains, so I take time to look through stuff from Johns in our friends garage. The musty smell is awful, but I feel compelled to search for "stuff".. info, clues to the life John lived. The afghans Mom made turn out to have large cig burns when we unfold them... they go into the trash instead of the washing machine. damn shame. Mom crocheted afghans to last decades, but with burns in them, they are trash. I toss a lot of papers but find something John wrote about himself to give as a speech to his Humanist Group about Homelessness and Addiction. It is his story and I keep it, and will write it up at a later date.

After the rain stops, we make a visit to Metro Police HQ downtown LV; have a hell of a time parking and finding a ramp to enter the building; then we have to take a number and wait to talk to a dummy behind the bullet proof glass. When I ask to speak to a detective about my brother, we're told there are no detectives there, they have a place a few miles away, but I can order a police report for 6 bucks, which I do. Oh, but I need a death cert to get the report I'm told.. why? I ask... you know he's dead, it's in your report. But protocol is king, so I pay for the report and can maybe get it later if I am lucky and fax the death cert to the right place. I ask about probate in LV, would I need to go to the courthouse? The gal prints out some info for me about probating one's estate. But it has to be valued over $20,000 to need probate, so I know we won't need to do that probate hassle. I confirm this later by a call to the probate court and a clerk tells me the same info.
We head to the other LV Metro police bldg and are able to talk to a nice volunteer guy working the desk. He makes some calls, gets us the name and number of the right detective who is handling John's case, and he tells us the Det will be in tomorrow and to call then.
We go back to John's for another hour or so. Mike finds John's wallet somewhere near the bed and a hand-written one page "last will and testament" where John wrote he leaves his meager belongings to his friend Mr M. There's 24 bucks in the wallet, so I pocket it for my troubles. His drivers licence and other membership cards are in the wallet, and it makes me glad to know he was legit and law-abiding in some things.

I make some calls to my work, and find I can get bereavement pay for five days, and so I won't be due back to work till a week from tomorrow. That's a blessing!
Friday AM we find out the death certificate can be ordered so we go the Clark County records office and get 4 copies at $20 apiece. Hopefully we won't need more than that. We go to the local Post Office to find out how to stop John's mail. Mr M decided he didn't want it forwarded to him, and I don't want it either. We have to fill out a forwarding address card and put "DECEASED" for the new address. I don't know if his mail now gets returned to sender or what. And I won't worry about it.

Saturday at 8:30 AM Mike and I meet Mr M for breakfast; I am an emotional and mental mess and tell him I just cannot go to John's again; I cannot deal with the vultures circling, and I do not want to meet Mz A or her son. I tell him we have been there twice and there is nothing more left I'd want to have from there. He asks again if I have John's watch with 3 small dials on it because Mz A's son has been calling him frequently to tell me that John promised this watch to him. I tell Mr M that whatever is still at John's house, Mr M can give away or sell as he pleases. He says the kid is being a pain in the ass about the watch. I hope the kid don't call me, it won't be pretty. If I do have the watch somewhere, it's mine now. Mr M asks if we found the car registration. We did not. It's a 96 Buick Regal that Mr M and his wife gave to John 4 yrs ago. (Later we'll learn the DMV requires a wait of 41 days before anyone can deal with the car. Mr M will send me papers to sign the car over to him so he can sell it.)
A gal from SAG comes to the restaurant to our table to get some photos from Mr M for the SAG newsletter. She sees we are eating, so she waves down the waitress to bring "lots of coffee" and orders herself something to eat as she plops down with us. What a character. We learn she has been a friend of John's for many years, and she has kind words about John. Said he was a gifted actor and teacher at the LV SAG Conservancy. When he gave a workshop, the place was full she said. She would be part of organizing the SAG Memorial for John. When I told her about burial costs, and that I wondered if anyone would be interested in scattering his ashes, she has a good idea and says she and Mr M will do it some day soon. I am grateful for that. Another matter settled.

Later that day we go with our friends to see Mom's grave at the Veterans cemetery, have lunch in Boulder City and take a drive around Lake Mead. A nice outing.
I sleep a little better that night as things are getting done and settled.
I continue to look through some journals and papers of John's that weekend. I'll write later of what I found.
Mr M calls Sunday night to say Mz A showed up at John's and "went to pieces" because she loved him and will miss him. Mr M was at John's Sunday to take away more stuff and he let some neighbors in who fought over things, and he had to be referee. Said someone stole the cable box when he was not looking but didn't get the remote with it. So he had 2 left over remotes and can't recall who got the tv's they belong to. He said "well, you know, those people there are so poor, they take anything." He asked if I got the small boxes of the "buttons" (lapel pin-on buttons) Mom had, I said yes, I took 2 small boxes of buttons. He says, well, those are the valuable ones, and there was a whole canister of the left over ones in a 20 lb kitty-litter container in the pantry. I said I didn't want those. He said the "valuable" buttons John had taken to an antique dealer and left them for 6 months but they never sold so he got them back. Kim had taken the Elvis buttons Mom had a few years ago when Mom let her take what she wanted off Mom's button boards. Mr M said John used pawns shops a lot but Mr M didn't find any pawn tickets. We agreed to meet Monday morning again so I could get John's house key to turn into the Housing Authority.

Monday morning I call the Detective who has John's gun and he is a nice guy; said he tells families to donate the gun or sell it and "do something nice with the money" but we have to wait 6 months before we can claim the gun to sell it. So we leave the case and clip with our friends and will decide later this year what to do with the gun.
We meet Mr M again before he has to go to work. he gives me the key and fills me in on a few more details about his time at Johns with the "vultures". He said the kid is still bugging him about John's watch but I say just tell him to forget it; I ain't dealing with that. I am glad to have this friend of John's in LV be such a good help to us at this time and tell him so. He is equally glad we came to LV so he would not have to deal with John's death by himself.

Mike and I go the Soc Sec office in North LV; it is a new building and clean and nice. We take a number and think we better settle in for a few hours, but we are called to a window in 3 minutes, show the death cert and my Calif DL, and are out of there in less then 10 minutes. I was told the Soc Sec checks would stop and John's account would be red-flagged as deceased so no one can use his number. Time will tell if this is true or not. I know too many people who had a hell of a time getting SS checks stopped when their loved one died.
We go to a housing authority office on the east side of LV, but it isn't the right office, so we are directed to go to an office downtown. So we do. We finally meet a nice lady who is authorized to accept John's house and mailbox keys. She tells us she is sorry for our loss, and I believe her since she is the most sincere person so far to say this. She even signs my notebook paper to "prove" I turned in the key, and Mike and I walk out of her office. I begin to sob because that seemed like the last item on the check-list of all the bullshit chores to accomplish to "settle" after John's death. So now I can break down and cry because the work is done for now.

So we head back to our friends house but stop for a little comfort food at an IN-N- Out first. We spend one more night with our friends and head home Tues morning. I feel good about what we've done and hope there are no loose ends to come back to bite me in the butt. It'll take awhile to grieve as I need to, in my own way, but it's OK and God holds me in the palm of His hand always.