Of course we’re afraid to talk about death. Most people don’t want the party to end or even acknowledge the inevitable. But having helped nudge my parents to get their affairs in order I have a clearer picture of the mess I would leave behind if I stepped in front of an SUV tomorrow.
Our friends, Roc and Barb, passing through town from Bloomington, had just done a project with “A Stroke of Instinct” author, Jill Bolte Taylor, and they let us know that if we checked the “donate my organs” box on our license, it doesn’t include your brain. I was trying to imagine what someone would do with my brain. And then they told us about an old friend whose father died and left a mysterious bank account which they traced back to a second family that the guy had on the sly.
At the very least, a will is in order. Rich Stim gave us a Nolo package a few years back but we never followed up with it. It came on a pc disc and we put our pc in the trash a few years back. The article in the local paper on Rochester’s Death Café noted that most people aren’t afraid to die, they just don’t like picturing the complications that lead up to it.
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