"Surviving joint tenant"

It's the smallest of things that occur, that make that knot in my stomach as if I'm going to cry. They happen in moments when I'm trying to hold things together, anyway. This time, I'm referring to the legal phrase, "surviving joint tenant."

This awful phrase surfaced on June4, during the closing on our Machias house. The words came from the lawyer, who is a lovely person and well-respected for her 30 years of practicing real estate law in this area. She walked her dog by our house daily, and even stopped in to visit with Frank twice in the last month that he was home, last fall.

She did my closing. Through the whole process of deciding to sell the house, and then getting it fixed and ready for the sale, I had done well with the emotions. I knew I could sell the house and move on, because the house was always more loved  by Frank, than by me. I knew I could sell off much of the furniture, because I could choose to keep the very sentimental items. I knew I could say goodbye to the house, because I would get to relocate in Lubec, a town which has always attracted me.

But there was a moment that I was entirely unprepared for, amid all the formalities of the closing. "Now sign here to convey the deed as the surviving joint tenant," the lawyer told me. That was it; the tears broke through, after a month of mostly holding them back.

That wasn't our plan, back when Frank and I closed on the Machias house as newlyweds in December 2003. We were going to live happily ever after, together, always. As joint tenants on the warranty deed, we never imagined that one of us would survive the other. Not just eight years into the marriage, anyway.

Tomorrow makes for five months since Frank died. I think about the awfulness of his illness and cancer journey, constantly. Then again, I also realize how lucky I was to know Frank and have him in my world for 10 years. And quite amazingly, that's the realization that I may be starting to focus on, instead of the incredible loss, five months after.