My mother's mail has ceased to be forwarded. I know the US postal service can't go on forwarding dead people's mail forever, but I feel a bit betrayed! Like they should have sent me a renewal notice or something. ("Attention: your mother's mail will no longer be forwarded to you unless you ACT NOW... This is your last piece of mail unless we hear from you today!"} Her mail was like a winding umbilical cord still connecting me to her life, even across the threshhold of death.
I didn't even notice the day when it stopped; I should have. I stopped paying attention for one small fraction of a moment, and then, boom, her mail was no more. No more RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) newsletters, no more "Sojourner's" magazines, no more solicitations from liberal causes, no more doctor's bills, no more insurance statements.
The last envelope that arrived, if I remember correctly, was a 1099 for something or other, which aptly reminds me that, indeed, "'In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes." (Ben)