Low of all lows

Just when you think you've seen it all, some soul-deprived jackass robs your deceased mom's identity and goes on a spending spree all the way to North Carolina. While Jill and I were grocery shopping, we received a call from our frantic dad wondering if we've purchased items at a department store or on a certain credit card none of us own. In a matter of a Monday evening, one of our dad's single worst nightmares has come true.

It happens, but to use our not but four months deceased mother's identity is absolutely despicable -- the kind of disgust where you spit through your fingers shaped like snake eyes hoping that in some culture, there's an ancient tradition where a snake eyes curse would actually work against whoever racked up a credit card in her name. I'm not a violent person, but sure would throw a stone or two at the asshole who is so shallow to steal a recently deceased person's identity--one who valiantly battled cancer and worked HARD her whole damn life and earned a PhD while raising four young (sometimes hyperactive) children.

Put out a beggars cup, do something more honorable than the cowardly and ultimately LAZY act of filling in lines using someone else's name. What if that was your mother's,friend's identity? It's the same as road rage and honking. Not to stray too far from the point, but what if the person you're flipping off in a two-second lapse of self-control was really the spouse of your child's teacher or your boss' wife? A conscience is a powerful thing-- one that guided my mom through everything, directing her towards one morally correct decision after another. But, here, four months after her death, some disgraceful yahoo grabs her name as a meal ticket for their next one stop shop to a pair of Nikes or thousands spent at Lane Bryant.

It's a problem easily resolved by a death certificate and patience, but one that brings to surface the painfully callous reality of our mom's passing and the sometimes pathetic nature of human kind. More importantly, it throws my dad into an anxious spiral neither he nor his children really need. ...To do that to a man grieving his wife and son, or to daughters grieving their mother and brother...good lord, have some tact.

So, when these folks are caught and wherever they have their hearing in hell, I'll be sure to bring the popcorn, Jill the lawn chairs, and Diane the tomatoes to watch justice be served.

Man up, humanity. Man up. -- E