So yesterday I did my taxes. Well, I compiled all the stuff so a tax pro could do tax pro voodoo with it.
Tax time gives me mixed feelings.
Yes, it’s a pain with our over-complicated system, built for those with the means to manipulate and a money vacuum stuck in the pockets of working people. So I grumble.
But because all kinds of people all over the place pay taxes, there are various programs that make life gentler for our son with autism, and that ease our burdens as caregivers. So I give thanks.
But more than all of this is the fact that I had to download and print a number of documents. THIS is where I felt the impact of decades as a caregiver.
See, our son likes to grab pieces of paper, crumble them up and wave them in moments of self-stimulation. As a result we used to keep all of our bills and documents secure, and we never, ever, ever left paper in the exposed printer feed tray.
So yesterday, after printing the 1095 and the mortgage interest thingy and such, I took all the paper out of the feed tray and hid it in a file cabinet. Even though our son doesn’t live here anymore.
Care giving. A gift that keeps giving. With all the certainty of death and… and… what was I talking about?