Estate Planning & Procrastinating
The dreaded estate planning... Ugh, need I say more? We’ve had the checklists of items to gather up for the attorney for days, weeks, okay months. It has sat on our desks staring at us the way mortality often does, frightening imminent and, at the same time, impossible. But the day had arrived to deliver our paperwork and sign our lives away.
(Don’t worry, you can keep reading. There’s no sales pitch for anyone or anything or in any way associated with this article. Nor will you find ads for estate planners at the bottom of it. I promise. Scroll down and check if you like.)
From where I stand, the world of invincibility is a fabulous place to live when the alternative is having to talk or think about the (God forbid) world our kids would face if we were to (God Forbid) die while they are still young. Did I say God forbid? (God forbid.) Spit spit. Tu tu. Salt over the shoulder.
In the pretty meadow full of flowers and daisies in my mind, I will be enjoying my children’s children’s children. Any other scenario, to quote my doctor, “is unacceptable.” Of course, she was only talking about not naming her unborn son after an elder relative because the name was too odd. But nonetheless, it made me laugh in the middle of a frightening medical procedure and I’m hoping it will work the same way here as well.
In my rush to get out the door and show up on time to the planner’s office, I stopped to tend my potted rose bush. Very important on hot days, right? It was not a procrastination tactic whatsoever. Poor little stems were parched. Now here is where most good writers would draw an analogy to draw in the reader and send a message like, “Our children will be helpless if we leave them unattended.” Or perhaps, “Just as we have to lay sprinklers into the ground to water and care for our roses when we are not there, so do we have to set up a structure to care for them in the event we are gone.”
Not me though, I’m going to tell you exactly what my two stemmed rose bush reminded me of as I was off to plan for the event of my (God forbid) demise. We haven’t planted a garden yet.
We’ve been talking about planting this thing for years. Days have slipped into weeks, which have slipped into months, which slip into winter and the thoughts disappear with the warmth. Then springtime comes and we draw up our plans again wildly in our minds. We’ll plant tomatoes and carrots and strawberries. Maybe we’ll go crazy and even try pumpkins. The family will bond as we sit down at the table and eat the fruits of our labor. We will love what we are eating, love each other and bond over the experience.
I realize, yes I have to pick up the pizza, drop it off at school and get my butt into that estate planner’s office. But on the way home I have to pick up seeds. Because all the money in the world won’t make up for missing out on this garden.
Au revoir for now...n
(Don’t worry, you can keep reading. There’s no sales pitch for anyone or anything or in any way associated with this article. Nor will you find ads for estate planners at the bottom of it. I promise. Scroll down and check if you like.)
From where I stand, the world of invincibility is a fabulous place to live when the alternative is having to talk or think about the (God forbid) world our kids would face if we were to (God Forbid) die while they are still young. Did I say God forbid? (God forbid.) Spit spit. Tu tu. Salt over the shoulder.
In the pretty meadow full of flowers and daisies in my mind, I will be enjoying my children’s children’s children. Any other scenario, to quote my doctor, “is unacceptable.” Of course, she was only talking about not naming her unborn son after an elder relative because the name was too odd. But nonetheless, it made me laugh in the middle of a frightening medical procedure and I’m hoping it will work the same way here as well.
In my rush to get out the door and show up on time to the planner’s office, I stopped to tend my potted rose bush. Very important on hot days, right? It was not a procrastination tactic whatsoever. Poor little stems were parched. Now here is where most good writers would draw an analogy to draw in the reader and send a message like, “Our children will be helpless if we leave them unattended.” Or perhaps, “Just as we have to lay sprinklers into the ground to water and care for our roses when we are not there, so do we have to set up a structure to care for them in the event we are gone.”
Not me though, I’m going to tell you exactly what my two stemmed rose bush reminded me of as I was off to plan for the event of my (God forbid) demise. We haven’t planted a garden yet.
We’ve been talking about planting this thing for years. Days have slipped into weeks, which have slipped into months, which slip into winter and the thoughts disappear with the warmth. Then springtime comes and we draw up our plans again wildly in our minds. We’ll plant tomatoes and carrots and strawberries. Maybe we’ll go crazy and even try pumpkins. The family will bond as we sit down at the table and eat the fruits of our labor. We will love what we are eating, love each other and bond over the experience.
I realize, yes I have to pick up the pizza, drop it off at school and get my butt into that estate planner’s office. But on the way home I have to pick up seeds. Because all the money in the world won’t make up for missing out on this garden.
Au revoir for now...n
