A lifetime of paperwork is my current source of frustration with my Mother's estate.
We are talking about critically important papers filed right next to 30 year old utility bills. My mind is boggled when I think of wading through 6 huge file drawers of papers. It's worse when I have to sit down with the moldy, dusty, yucky stuff. It's crawling with dust mites that irritate my asthma.
And handling some of it makes me cry.
I'm grateful that we worked on publishing Mom's stories while she was still able to enjoy putting them into notebooks and making lists. I've got a pretty good index of titles and the notebooks.
It's hard to read them.
I don't want to edit them. Her grasp of grammar and other mechanics is above and beyond mine. I'm afraid her unique voice would be lost.
I look for software translation errors, and spacing errors and take care of those. Otherwise, I let Mom tell her stories her way.
That makes me smile.