Posted by: mindyourknitting | September 24, 2009

Helloooooo Mortality!

My husband and I are finalizing our wills (please, no comments about how we should have done this as soon as or before our daughter was born because if we both die the state would put her in an Annie-style orphanage and our assets would line the pockets of corrupt politicians while our daughter ate gruel and would have no prospects but to pick pockets and eventually turn tricks to feed her smack habit if only we had a will and OH THE HUMANITY!!).  We eventually got around to doing the responsible thing and have pretty much made all the big decisions, like having Abigail’s custody determined by a cage match between her grandparents and designating the cats as our backup powers-of-attorney (they can decide to pull the plug on us based on whether they eat from food bowl #1 or food bowl #2), and we are now writing up a list of items to be bequeathed to specific people.  Want anything? 

I come with my own toys.

I come with my own toys.

I'm a reader!

I'm a reader!

Does this send the wrong message?

Does this send the wrong message?

I come with my own pony

I ALSO come with my own pony

There’s nothing weirder than taking a walk-through of your home to figure out who gets what when you’re dead.  Most of our things aren’t worth fighting over, but we have a few items (family heirlooms, our wedding china, jewellery my husband has given to me) that we don’t want sold or dispersed under any circumstances, so we have to list them.  Much of it will go to Abigail and any future siblings we hope to bless her with (and although this should be automatic we figure it won’t hurt to have it in writing), but there’s the odd item that should be given or returned to someone in our families.  I am not really approaching this with the idea that everyone will get something, but rather if there’s something that someone should have, they will have it.  And then there’s the stuff that is worth nothing to anyone else but holds sentimental value to me – things like my wedding dress, and the bits and bobs of antique china I’ve amassed and which resides in our dining room buffet, never seeing the light of day (although I do sneak a piece out onto the mantle now and then, despite Erik’s exclamations of “what is this THING?” while holding up an antique, floral, multi-tiered dessert plate).  I’m going to burden Abigail with the wedding dress and she can decide what to do with it – the idea of it going to goodwill, or worse yet, getting thrown out, kills me (not in small part because I paid $300 to have the sucker preserved and boxed).  I’m going to leave it up to my mom to sort through my china and glassware (everything except the wedding china & crystal – in other words, the nice stuff – which again goes to Abigail and any future kidlings), and if you think that’s a burden then you don’t know my mom.  The only thing she loves more than old stuff is getting to organize old stuff.  This whole ‘will’ process, which is so wrapped up in things once the big decisions (kid, house, money) are out of the way, has made me consider that one day I won’t be here, my stuff won’t be the treasured items they are to me anymore, and there will come a time when no one will remember me. Because I’ll be dead.  

That wasn’t really the note I planned to finish on, but, well, there it is.   But there’s also this:

 

This is my legacy.

This is my legacy.

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Responses

  1. Hm, I wonder which child I should saddle with my orchids when I die? *rubs hands together craftily* Hm, which one am I MOST annoyed with?


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