Properly format the following text, for storytelling purposes:

It is remarkable how it takes the end of one story for another to start. In my case, it was the end of two. In the immediate aftermath of the paramedics visiting the home of my now-deceased mother to account for her frigid, lifeless body, I can remember having a conversation with one of the police officers who came to the scene. With a desire to be proactive, I spoke of potentially joining the police department on a trial basis, to gain the knowledge and experience necessary so that one day I could become an officer myself. If nothing else I believed I could be useful in a secretarial position, handling duties and tackling assignments at the front desk...about three months later, I found myself doing precisely that when I was given the opportunity to tend to matters at the front desk of the Boca Raton Achievement Center. (I'll go into more detail on that in a while.) Most likely realizing the bind I was now in, the officer parted with his shop-worn, well-read copy of Dale Carnegie's seminal work "How to Win Friends and Influence People", even signing it at my request and offering both written and spoken words of encouragement. Over the next few months, I divided time between exploring my passions and handling various obligations pertaining to the passing of my parents. For the most part, my enthusiasm outweighed my frustration, though things could have taken a turn for the worse had I not handled myself as well as I did in one particular situation. No more than a week after my mother passed away and possibly a few days sooner, a fellow--to use the nicest word I can under the circumstances--knocked on my front door. He claimed to have known my parents and said he had been in conversation with my father not too long ago in regards to having repairs done on at least one of my parents' vehicles. One thing led to another, and a few bad decisions later, I had parted with one vehicle by way of a title transfer and got far less for it than I would have gotten through alternative means, while also parting with several lower-level valuables which were sold to a collector who in all likelihood turned around and re-sold them for four or five times what I got for them. To say nothing else about this person, except to say that he is apparently now running his game in Atlanta, there were numerous rewarding aspects of exploring my parents' bedroom. With the zeal of a caffeinated archaeologist, I eagerly endeavored to excavate a closet that over the years had become a storage unit in and of itself. Looking back through papers I found became a trip through time, shedding light on more aspects of my mother's experiences with her employers while simultaneously recalling nostalgic aspects of my childhood. For example, I was reminded of my infatuation with Nana Mizuki, a letter I wrote to Hynden Walch twenty years ago, and an abundance of drawings I made at a time when cartoons were a significant part of my life. (There are some I'm prouder of than others, though I can't help but smile when I contemplate the warped sense of humor I had back then.) As part of a contingency plan my mother and I had mutually agreed to shortly before her departure, I bequeathed various articles of clothing, and other miscellaneous items, to one of her longstanding friends who had for a long time been diligently assisting her wheelchair-bound form in being safely transported to and from her place of employment. He himself had served with honor and dignity as the head janitor at the workplace since 1996, joining the company five years before she did...to this day, he still holds that distinction, though I can only hope that he will have the chance to train a young apprentice who can succeed him in the role when he inevitably retires or himself passes. On the occasions I got to visit and meet some of my mother's former coworkers, it proved a most refreshing change of pace given the not-so-ideal conditions of my own residence.