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Battling the bureaucrats

January 8, 2011
Marcy O’Brien

When I reach into my cold, rural mailbox from my warm, red car it's always with a sense of expectation. It's like the guy says on the television lottery ad, "Hey, ya never know." And so it was on Wednesday when I pulled out the anemic, post-holiday mail . . . a sale catalogue, a bill, a postcard from Mexico, a life insurance offer addressed to my late husband, and a mysterious envelope whose window indicated a check with my name on it . . . and Tom's, my late husband.

 
 

 

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