Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.
Dealing with my dadâ€™s estate has spurred me to update my will again to make sure some new material is covered. Whether youâ€™re doing one for the first time or the 50th, itâ€™s a sobering experience.
As I went through the checklist to see if Iâ€™d missed anything, some of the questions really stood out this time.
We accumulate Â all this stuff in our lives, Â make Â our nests, and then a legal document forces us to say who gets it when Â weâ€™re no longer attached to it, whether or not they have the slightest interest in what this particular little wire-wrapped Â crystal pendant meant Â to Â me or that ring my mom gave me or why Iâ€™d want a certain item buried on the hill on my parentsâ€™ farm where we watched the fireflies and full moon that time. I donâ€™t think about the money. Moneyâ€™s never been the big emphasis for me. Instead, I think about the sentimental things that probably no one else would consider, Â with the exception Â of my daughters.
At this point in my life, itâ€™s a clear decision for everything I have to go to my daughters. I still have my mom and brothers, all quite a bit older than I am, but I have no other children and no special partner to share my bounty. Itâ€™s a sudden reminder of how small my most precious circle is.
Then I come across a question on the checklist that floors me. Iâ€™ve read it before. Iâ€™ve answered it before. Today, Iâ€™m in a different frame of mind.
If my children should not survive me to inherit my property, then who would I name as beneficiaries?
All I can think is, if my children should not survive me, then what would it matter?