Well, thank God, I’m spending the day with a smart gang here to control the game, the ride and adventures we the family have today.

Greet Jillana Joly Devine-Knickel, my younger daughter, and her husband, Wayne, who have arrived in town to rescue me from a mountain of paperwork. Wayne is well-educated, a Navy veteran, ex-Broadway publicist, real estate veteran and actor. He has come with the right tools to help me sort out the mountain of paperwork She left behind.

Oh, not unpaid bills, She always paid the bills, but kept the paper copies of most of them marked as PAID. That means receipts and paid bills were put in drawers and metal file boxes, lots of them, everything, like income taxes which She loved doing. Yes, professionals filed the taxes, but a teacher with a career of 35 years in Los Angeles and here in Waterville couldn’t resist going over them. There they were, reams of first drafts, second and third drafts on yellow paper.

After She retired, she brought that insane energy into our house, pushing me aside, correcting my work before it left the house, leaving behind a world of copies, and I mean copies of everything. After her health and energy begin to lapse, her youngest daughter, a human carbon copy of her, proofed my columns, leaving her to read three books a week and enjoy naps in the Maine afternoon sun.

Jillana is now somewhat in charge of my slightly unreal life. She controls my bank accounts, doctors, dentist and writing deadlines. It’s easy. I don’t drink, I’ve lost weight and taken to eating frozen dinners, thus setting me up in a more orderly life.

She has assistance from Dawn, daughter No. 1, who adds advice via Facetime and phone calls and has taken control of my widowhood-life.

It wasn’t easy passing numbers back and forth, mumbling and scratching each other’s backs and heads. We were together once again, but without a Christmas tree or Easter eggs, going on a ride to the coast, walking through Disneyland or back in endless summers standing in line at ice cream shops and sharing lobsters with one another and getting hot butter on our white shorts.

We are now without the principal player, She who created this family with love and grace and curiously left a basket of numbers and names for all of us to get together like gnomes to solve. Dawn was constantly on the phone in Los Angeles to give us courage, laughs and advice.

On Father’s Day, after struggling with all the numbers, dots, crossed T’s and fading names and long ago addresses and doctor’s names, some retired, some passed away, we drove through the streets and remembered who we hugged at birthdays and graduations.

We sat in the shade in front of the house we would soon sell, and talked about my going back to Hancock Park in Los Angeles were the girls went to Marlborough School for Girls, without the red-haired lady from Maine who met me in New York and enriched my life with a rich blend of French and Irish blood.

What a lovely trip it’s been, and how grateful we are this day for the ride.

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.