Every time my parents go away on a major holiday my mother tells me what to do if they should die.  She never expects to expire, nor is she is gloomy.  She tells her children “where everything is” lest there a tragedy.  “We’ll be back in two weeks, don’t forget to pick us up! Please remember to pay the lawn mower service, and oh! Bill has the keys to the safety deposit box, our wills are with so and so, and the list of important items is in the firebox etc. etc.”  She has been doing this since we were children. At first we thought her silly or morbid but now we know she was merely being a good Girl Scout.

This ritual is based on an aunt who died when she went on a world tour. Nobody knew where anything was or what auntie wanted. It was a frightful mess and everyone was unprepared. As a consequence, mother doesn’t wish that sort of situation on her conscious.

Lately I’ve been poking Someone in the ribs to prepare something likewise. It is uncomfortable talking about death, but we are not prepared. We don’t have working wills. If I were in an accident, he could not name my medications or drug allergies. If he were to drop dead I wouldn’t know the location of the chequebook, let alone the numbers necessary to get into the bank accounts and the safety deposit box.

Last weekend I started to compose my own “Lest I die” document.

It is interesting to consider what needs to be done.  I need to rustle up the numbers of my insurance agent, the Merrill Lynch broker, my physician etc. I wrote out a list of my  medications (something I never do as I know them by memory).
Then there would be people to call –  how to get into my email addresses/phone books to tell Spo-fans near and far I’ve bought the farm, kicked the bucket, joined the Celestial choir. In brief, I am now an ex-Spo.

Writing out my funeral requests was sort of fun. I want to be laid in one of my shirts of course. (unintentional pun, this).  I prefer cremation to burial and either to watching “Project Runway”.  I want “Pie Jesu” by Andrew Lloyd Webber played at my funeral.  What Someone will do with my ashes is uncertain – my church says they have to be buried.  I would like them scattered on the shore of Lake Michigan during a sunset.  Whatever. I won’t be here to see it.

I dare say Someone will survive me. He’s as healthy as a horse. He’ll get on a new partner and gallop off.

I will be annoyed if I suddenly disappear.

I’ve seen “Law and Order”.  I know what happens.

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