March 2, 2013

My dad always did his taxes himself, and they were not simple.  He resisted the idea of getting an accountant.  He was one of the smartest people I’ve known and he was good at math, so his doing his own tax returns even for his level of investment sophistication was feasible.

During the last period of his life, while he was cycling in and out of the hospital with kidney blockage and failure, he told me how he and I were going to go over his tax returns together “line by line” this year, because he realized he would need to have them double-checked by somebody else.

The package of material for my parents’ 2012 tax return arrived today at the accountant’s office.  Jordan and I figured out how to send my mother a box with a prepaid UPS label and how to schedule a pick-up from her house, to get the material from there to the accountant.  And today the box was delivered to the accountant’s office.

I don’t know what my dad would have thought of this — that we’ve engaged an accountant — disappointment?  anger?  I am pretty sure he expected I would learn to prepare his tax returns myself, and that I would have time to do them, too.

I just find the whole situation incredibly sad.

Maybe it’s a portal through which to express my grief.


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