Do you ever really know someone?

The day after the funeral my husband and kids head back home, and I go to the police station with my parents to finish up some legal things.

One thing we had to do was get the paperwork done, so we would be allowed to go up into her apartment to clean it out. If we didn't have this paperwork, and we go in there to clean it out, we could be arrested. PLUS, the apartment was sealed after her death, so we had to make arrangements for someone to UNseal it for us.

We get the paperwork done, and while waiting for a police officer to escort us to the apartment to 'cut the seal', we are told to go to another section of the huge building, where we can pick up her belongings.

Pick up her belongings? We didn't even know they confiscated stuff.

My father waits behind and I head off to the room with my mom to get Cindy's stuff. We finally get helped and a woman plops 2 large, over stuffed, gallon-sized, zip lock bags in front of us. Seeing what it was we both gasp.

There, thrown into those bags, were all of Cindy's jewelry. Jewelry that my mother wanted to put Cindy on for the viewing, that she couldn't find. EVERYTHING. Every single necklace, bracelet, watch, earring, and ring was a tangled, mangled mass thrown together.

"When did you do this?" my mother asked, appalled.

"When she died, before anyone got there we collected her jewelry, so no one would steal it."

"You did this BEFORE my son got there? How do I know the cop didn't take something?"

"Well, that's why we send TWO cops - so that doesn't happen."

My mother and I burst out laughing.

She looked insulted, and I said, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that completely solves that possibility. It's not like they would cover for each other or anything."

She answers, "Everything is inventoried and thrown into the bag and sealed."

"How do we know a diamond ring wasn't pocketed? This should've been done with a family member present!" my mother adds.

Her reply?

"It is the law here, and this is what we do!"

Luckily, Cindy didn't have any expensive jewelry, but still...In that moment I was never so happy to be out of that state.

After at least six hours there, we are finally on our way to Cindy's apartment. On the ride over, I am realizing that I'm going to be standing right where Cindy died, and in that moment, I just want to throw up.

We follow the cop to the apartment and I prepare myself, and try to get my emotions under control for my mother's sake. I step inside...and I'm okay.

I'm okay.

We stay only a moment and then head back to Jeff's.

The three of us had agreed to clean out Cindy's apartment, to get it over with, but my Dad actually wanted to go home, and come back in a few days to do it, but that just wasn't feasible. Jeff and I both had off from work now, and it just made sense.

If you remember my earlier post, my dad was the strict one. You do things when HE wants it done, or else. This was probably the first time in the man's life, that the three of us stood up to him.

I calmly said, "Look, if you can't take this, or it's too much to handle, that's fine, but the three of us are going to stay behind and do this now. We want to get this over with, and to prolong it and know we have to come back in few days isn't fair. So if you need to go home, you can."

He did, later that evening, but he assumed that there was no way that we'd get it done in just one or two days anyway, and he'd be back to help.

After he left, we headed out to pick up cleaning supplies for the next dreaded day.

We wake up early, eat quickly, and are at Cindy's in record time. Our mind set? Just do it as quickly as we can, and get the hell out of there. None of us wanted to be there and our goal, as crazy and impossible as it sounded was, to get it done in ONE day.

One hour after being there, Louie and Madeline, the young couple that was at the funeral home, came over. Apparently, my mother had told them we'd be there and told them to come over and take something of Cindy's that they would like to remember her by. What they did next floored us all.

"We're not here to take something and leave, we came here to help."

"You don't have to do that. Really, it's okay, it's not your responsibility," I say.

"We were her friends, that's what friends do."

I love these people. I seriously, with all that I am, LOVE these people.

We all take sections of the apartment and start filling black garbage bags and boxes. It got a little overwhelming when I would stop and think about how her life is just being thrown in black bags, and how nothing she owned, collected, or had, mattered. I recalled my priest saying that exact thing on several occasions during his weekly homily in church. Materialistic things don't matter - you can't bring it with you. I see, first hand, just how true this statement is. And it is so freakin' sad. I quickly snap out of it, knowing if I keep thinking about this I'll break down, and quickly refocus, to just GET-THE-JOB-DONE.

We break for lunch and go to one of Cindy's favorite restaurants across the street from her apartment. It's a nice break, in a nice restuarant, and I sat there and thought, I could be friends with these people. And if I could be friends with these people, and Cindy was friends with these people....nothing made sense. We should've all gotten along better with Cindy if she had friends like these.

We get back to the apartment and I come across a Whitesnake CD. I laugh and say, "What the heck is she doing with a Whitesnake CD?"

Jeff joins in with me chuckling, and Louie says, "She loved Whitesnake."

"She what?" I ask, shocked.

"Oh yeah! She LOVED them. One of her favorite bands."

"Cindy? Cindy loved Whitesnake?" my brother interjects.

"Oh yeah!"

I continue to pack things and think Cindy, the one who hates loud music, fireworks, balloons, and listens to Neil Diamond, Bobby Sherman, the Bay City Rollers, and country music, loves Whitesnake? None of this makes sense!

I hear Louie, ask my mother if she'd seen a specific picture of the two of them, because if anything, that's what he wanted from the apartment. She remembers seeing it, digs it out, and hands it to him. I walk over to him and he hands me the picture.

He has tears in his eyes and says, "We were at a party and I asked her to dance." And there she was smiling ear to ear, dancing with Louie.

I go back to packing - more confused than ever as to who she really was.