My wife reminded me that the time has come for us to write a will. I guess I had thought of the possibility that we might not be around any longer once or twice, but never really considered the fact that eventually it will happen. It’s not one of those things that average people go around thinking about.
It’s considered, sure, but most of the time it’s considered in times of peril, fear or something similar. I don’t think about it when I am buying a cup of coffee or going to the store for fruit — “Oh, hey, these apples are a great bargain. It would be a shame if I died before I got to the self checkout.”
I’m not young, but I’m not old, so it really doesn’t come up often. Statistically, men live to be about 80 or so, so I am a little beyond the half-way point but nowhere near the inevitable conclusion. It’s safe to say, while I am not the paragon of physical fitness, I am in no danger of becoming plant food. The big sleep, the dirt nap, eternal slumber, or whatever you may call it, hopefully is a long way off.
My wife is very practical. I am not. I like to think I am, such as the time I took a wool sweater on vacation with us to the beach one summer. She thought I was being silly, and I told her I was prepared for anything, including the possibility of the air conditioning system going on the fritz and making everything frigid. It did not and I never got the chance to show the July crowd in Myrtle Beach my wonderful sweater. I digress.
My wife figured since our daughters are grown and out on their own, we would not have to worry about who would look after them after we are gone. My wife recently found out that her parents had not updated their arrangements and she was shocked to know, at the age of 41, that she was expected, at least on paper, to go live with family friends in Brooklyn. Our daughters are adults and do not need to be placed with trusted friends or family.
Neither my wife nor I come from any kind of wealth, so there are is no need for a complicated legal document piled to the brim with mumbo jumbo and gobbledygook that takes 10 attorneys to figure out. We don’t own any property, our investments are small and our debts are small. This should be simple.
I am here to tell you that it is not — and continues not to be — simple to this very minute.
We have two daughters. Madeline is 18 and Britney is 26. Madeline has just moved out on her own and Britney is married with two children. The two women are very different. Their interests are different. Dividing up our belongings, even in theory, poses difficulties we never could foresee when we acquired things and had children. When we bought certain things, we did not consider we would have to pass them on to someone else after we were gone. I don’t think either young woman cares about which China pattern we have or who gets the big television. The girls aren’t greedy and they, for the most part, have things of their own and don’t want to get saddled with going through our things and deciding what goes with whom.
Nothing my wife nor I own is heirloom quality. There are a few things my wife has that have been passed down. These are non-negotiable and will be evenly divided up. I have a small gun collection and a Rolex watch. This is very simple. My casket will be very heavy, I will be heavily armed and know what time it is in the afterlife. Problem solved. My wife states I will be cremated. All that ammo is going to make for a hell of a show at my memorial service.
There is an old saying that says you can’t take it with you. I wish you could take it with you. It’s a heck of a lot easier than trying to give it all away.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.
