Huntington Bank

I recently opened up a second bank account at Huntington Bank so I could begin to separate my bill money from my fun money. I saw this as a step to being more controlled about my spending and knowing once the fun money was gone, it was gone and fun had to end until my next payday.

A few weeks ago, I managed to get two random checks and I decided that I would treat myself and deposit them into my new fun account. I put the checks in my wallet and I kept my eyes peeled for a bank branch. Unfortunately, that’s when I discovered the problem. There was no Huntington Bank branch on my daily route anywhere. In the back of my head I knew where to find the closest location, but I couldn’t bring myself to go there. I realized I had a bad emotional connection to that particular bank.

Nine years ago, my mother died of lung cancer. She was diagnosed in April and she passed away in June 2004. One of the tasks I had to do for her while she was very sick was take her to the bank and add my name to her account. I did this so I could take care of her financial matters for her. I remember the experience like it was yesterday. My mom was very frail and could hardly walk because the chemo was quickly killing her. I drove her to the Huntington Bank location in downtown Noblesville and I parked in the handicapped spot. I had to hold her arm and support her as she walked so she wouldn’t fall. It took us forever to get inside the building because her pace was so slow and her lung capacity was shitty.

As she walked, she carried a nasty towel because every few steps she took, she would vomit up yellow stomach fluid. This experience was very near the end of her life, and it was very difficult to be around her because you could see how much she was suffering. When we got inside the building, she looked like she was going to pass out and she had a difficult time talking to the clerk who helped us. By the end of the visit, she wasn’t very coherent and she practically passed out in the car as I drove her home. I had been avoided taking her to the bank because she was declining so quickly. Unfortunately, this particular experience required her presence.

That visit to the bank was when I really let myself realize how sick my mom was. I had known it intellectually, but I didn’t let myself feel it or understand it till then. It has been nine years, and I still haven’t gone to that particular bank location and I don’t intend to.

I find it odd that I had such an intense reaction to the bank so long after her death. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, and my dreams have been filled with her. I never had a good relationship with her and I had a hard time dealing with her various mental illnesses, but she was still my mom and part of me wishes she was still here and well.