Grief never comes with a timeline, but bureaucracy sure tries to give it one.

When one doctor’s office receptionist hounds a grieving widow for her recently-deceased husband’s address, she delivers a response that brings the whole waiting room to a halt.

You’ll want to read on for this one.

Will a plot number work for the address?

My dad passed away when I was 10 years old, and this story takes place about a year or two afterward.

I remember my mom was still very distraught about his death.

I think this was one of the first times I actually saw her leave the house since his passing.

On this fateful day, I had to go to the doctor’s office.

I think I had pink eye, but again, I don’t really remember.

My mom sat me down in the little receptionist office and grabbed the paperwork to fill out.

She noticed a question that caught her attention on the form.

My mom’s always used humor to deflect her pain, so it wasn’t strange to hear her mumble, “Second guardian/parent address… I don’t know how Heaven’s addressing system works… Guess that’s gonna be left blank.”

What was strange was when she returned to the receptionist counter.

I was bored out of my mind, and it was a tiny waiting room, so all I could do was watch the scene unfold.

That’s when the trouble started.

My mom turned to come sit with me again, but was stopped.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”

My mom turned back around to face the receptionist.
“Yes?”

“You didn’t finish your paperwork.”

The two go back and forth.

My mom, ready to do her job and ensure her daughter had medical care ASAP, grabbed the paperwork off the counter.

She flipped through it.

“No, looks like I got it all.”

“Ma’am, we need a second parent listed.”

“Oh, um, he’s no longer in the picture.”

“I’m sorry, but I still need an address.”

She tried to handle this as tactfully as she could at first.

My mom lowered her voice, almost too quiet to hear.

“I mean, he passed recently. I don’t have an address.”

“Ma’am, I can’t file the paperwork without one.”

This mother was running out of patience fast.

Her voice was no longer lowered.

“…He’s dead. I can’t give you one.”

“Then I can’t file the paperwork.”

The receptionist refused to back down.

“So you’re telling me I need my deceased husband’s current address to get my daughter looked at?”

“Yes, ma’am. I can’t file the paperwork until it’s been completed.”

My mom isn’t normally one to make a scene.

Especially not somewhere like a doctor’s office.

Key word — normally.

So the mother decided the best way forward was to make a total scene.

I watched my mom open her mouth, close it, take in a deep breath, and nod.

My mom then spoke loudly—I almost think she embellished the heartbreak in her voice—making sure everyone and anyone could hear her.

“Well, I hope a plot number works for my husband’s address, because that’s all I can give you!”

Finally, the receptionist begins to change her tune.

The woman immediately started to panic.

There was no way her bosses didn’t just hear that, and I could already see people standing up, I assume to defend my mom’s honor.

She started trying to take the paper from my mom’s hands.
“No! No no, don’t worry, I don’t need one! This is good enough!”

She glared at the woman.

The mother wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

“No, you said you can’t file without an address, so I’m giving you one.”

My mom’s also super stubborn when she gets frustrated.

She held onto those papers like they were my dad’s final words.

Tears were streaming down her face, though I’m still not sure if it was from anger, grief, or an equal mix of both as she scribbled out his plot number.

She didn’t move from the desk, but it didn’t matter.

The rest of the waiting room was starting to take notice now too.

Everyone was looking at her in stunned silence.

My mom had to grab her phone to get the proper number, which involved returning to our seats where her purse was.

Everyone turned to glare at the receptionist when they saw my poor mom had a child.

The rest of the staff attempts to do damage control, but it’s too late now.

When she did return with her phone, a different woman was standing up front.

She politely told my mom the plot number wasn’t necessary, apologized for the other person, and told her she could happily return to her seat if she liked.

Did I already mention my mother is stubborn when ticked?

The tears were still coming, but my mom had a blank expression.

She was determined to give the staff exactly what the form asked for.

“You cannot file my paperwork without a second parent’s address. I will provide you with one.”

And after a second of navigating her phone, she confirmed what she wrote down was correct and returned to our seats.

Turns out, the staff was quite eager to make sure this little incident was forgotten about.

The other receptionist did not return while we were there.

I also remember my mom being pleasantly surprised when she went over the bill for that.

Got a hefty discount — like 60% off.

Hopefully this receptionist learned a thing or two from this harrowing exchange.

What did Reddit have to say?

What was this pushy receptionist thinking?

This form really needs some revising.

Some people just can’t pick up on a hint.

She didn’t come in looking for a fight, but the receptionist left her no choice.

The system may have forgotten her loss, but she made sure they wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

If you liked that post, check out this post about a woman who tracked down a contractor who tried to vanish without a trace.