Writing a will is nearly as exciting as I thought it would be.
When I was a kid I would look around my room and decide who would get what if I unexpectedly croaked. Once or twice I even wrote a cursory list in my journal. I would picture my friends and loved ones going through my things, crying with grief and joy when they learned they had been bequeathed my favorite Depeche Mode poster, or learned in my absence they would be kept company by my pet newts. I could see my sister roiling with jealousy when she learned she got none of my cassette tapes. Yeah, I was a morbid little shit, and vindictive too.
Once I got older I didn't really think about my will. I figured I didn't have anything anyone wanted, and as long as my Mother didn't clean out my apartment, or have to go through my bank statements (I had a little credit card debt), all would be well. I actually remember one night when I almost got hit by a car thinking "oh, man, thank God I didn't die owing American Express. Mom would be pissed."
Now, I actually have a will. Ryan and I decided to get one after Meg was born. And that's pretty much what it is: getting a will. We didn't have to sit down and discuss anything, or make lists of our possessions, or decide who to leave out so that our wrath can be felt from beyond the grave.
There was no writing of heartfelt tributes, or giving of explanation as to why Tara gets one, but not both of my monkey earrings.
No making someone spend the night in our basement where the ghost lives in order to get our silverware.
All we had to do was call our friend Ben, and ask him to draw up a will. He did -- a basic whoever dies first leaves everything to the other, and once we're both gone Meg gets it all. We have to pick a trustee, sign some papers, make sure Ben didn't put in any clauses about the Pittsburgh Steelers, and then it will all be done. Nice and legal. And boring.
I guess this is the best thing. I mean, after all, we're adults, and the most important thing is making sure our daughter is taken care of in the long run. We're really lucky we have a friend who is a fantastic lawyer who is helping us do that. And it's not like any of our friends or family are really going to be wishing we had left them the "Devil Baby" artwork instead of Meg. Still, it makes me yearn for the excitement I pictured in a will when I was young, and stupid.
Maybe I'll write a secret will and hide it somewhere. Then I'll leave a series of cunning clues as to where it is...
Oh, that would piss Ryan off so much. Piss him off from beyond the grave.
I think the first clue should have something to do with llamas.