The last time I made the drive, I could barely breathe. I wasn't sure what to expect. I didn't know how it all worked. I was in a fog.
I couldn't find my son's birth certificate. I needed it to file for social security death benefits. My husband had just died.
He was born in a neighboring county. I needed it that day. I drove. I parked. I made my way through parking, I don't remember where, and through the glass doors, and the kiosk, and the window, and got the copy, and then I drove more, to the next county, where I sat, sobbing, uncontrollably, in the parking lot, before repeating a similar process, so much more surreal, to file for the benefits.
Now, over a year has passed. We have moved, and in the massive upheaval of it all, I cannot, for the life of me, find that damn birth certificate that I took such pains to get. And I need it. Again. For a totally different reason.
It's a good reason, but also a stressful one, and I cannot find the fucking thing. ANYWHERE.
So, I drove. Like a banshee, to beat the traffic. This time, it's two counties away. But, I knew what awaited me on the other end, so I was calm. Or calmer. Except for the memories of Why. Why I was here the last time. Why it was familiar. Why I needed it before.
I have it now. I will put it back in the Safe Place. The same Safe Place I always put it. <insert eye roll> Until I can't find it, and I have to get another one, cheeses help me.