Will Power, or Power Through A Will

Compared to, say, my younger siblings or friends in Canada, I am a bit late to the game. But, you see, the question was immediately shut down by a former partner before completely bubbling to the surface.

‘’A will ? That's crazy. Everything you have goes to...’’

The living spouse. I get it. In other words, you.

But hey, not anymore—sorry ! Since now there is no longer a you (at least not in the patriarchal-institution-called-marriage sense of you), there is only me standing alone in the self-directed trajectory of my material life. Especially since cardiac pain and various other discomforts remind me with some regularity that death is no longer an abstraction, I’d better get my act together and make a move toward what may be the ultimate act of power: deciding who gets what, when, and how when there will no longer be a me.

Not that there will be much left to begin with, given that I just went through a divorce that decimated my finances. Welcome to the family court system in America: not really a justice system, but a legal system made to fill the already saturated pockets of attorneys and appointed professionals. Still, there is something empowering if also frightening about sitting one-on-one with an attorney and listing all my last wishes. The power lies in the fact that my word will dictate the specifics. I can distribute my modest assets as I please. Wow!

The pre-divorce version of me, by contrast, didn't have her own credit card account, unbeknownst to her (I naively assumed that having a credit card with my name on it meant my own account, until I needed to obtain the statements for reimbursement of expenses. I was shocked to find out that to access those, I had to go through my then-husband!). So, this level of reclaimed power over my finances felt like a huge leap, one worthy of celebration. I also felt, rushing through my arteries, the dizzying excitement of suddenly being able to decide what to do with my own space—including my space in the garage! Once I became single again, I could decide which type of rag to use for cleaning, or where to buy my underwear and toiletries.

Now that the agonizing fracture of my past married life has almost healed, I have to resist joining the death-deniers and major-decision-avoiders, and sit down with my heart. Yes, my heart. Because this is an incredible opportunity to break free from the outrageous gendered lineage rules that so often determine who gets what when wealth is passed down (in my own extended family, for example, it was established that a younger male sibling will get a certain paternal aunt’s assets, presumably because he is passing on the name of her father). I can split what I will have left between my children, my nieces and nephew, friends, cousins, or charity. It is entirely my private business, under my control. Not something I could claim often, before!

I can admit, however, to feeling overwhelmed in this new territory. I have to put aside my frustration and my ‘’whys’’ : why it feels so taboo to talk about writing a will, for instance, and why this important skill was not taught in high school or even college. Over the years, I did some preparatory work, as I had to put my ego aside and look for or ask about the definition of words like ‘’trust,’’ “beneficiaries,’’ and ‘’power of attorney.’’ I am a native French speaker, and such death-related decisions exacerbate the intimidation I sometimes feel around language. I am also grateful for the legal plan that has been in place through my job, where monthly contributions of a mere 11 dollars toward end-of-life legal expenses have allowed me to save thousands.

We shouldn’t underestimate the feelings associated with reappraising assets that once had a story or dream attached to them, a hope that is no longer. This process is about writing another narrative. Because there isn’t going to be the family cabin I thought we would buy. Although grief might serve to propel the exhilaration that comes from slowly yet surely reclaiming my power. When it comes to creating one’s will, power is a paradoxical concept: it is about selecting people who will take charge when you lose certain capabilities, including access to the very same power that allowed you to make end-of-life decisions in the first place.

Why talk about a will in a column on mindfulness? I guess because in death, just as much as in life, it is important to be intentional: to pause, first to hear the fear of death, and then to have a compassionate conversation with that fear so it can evaporate. I’ll then sit with myself, to access the calm, stillness, and clarity necessary to make sure I know what to do. I want to choose the right people to make decisions that will be in my best interest, those who will ultimately dispose of my cremains and other tangibles.

There is an antique store in Ontario, Canada called Dead People’s Stuff, with a business card that reads, ‘’An ever-changing assortment of desirables, oddities and eclectics.’’ As I create an inventory of my possessions—if not worthy of winding up in probate court (let’s hope not!)—I am searching for a designated person who will, aligned with my wishes, dispose of my stuff in an intentional, sustainable way after I am gone. I know I must eventually deal with my own large ‘’assortment of desirables, oddities and eclectics’’—I think this sums up my life in general, ha!

Most importantly, finding the will to deal with my will has been an eye-opening experience, a reminder of impermanence and the need to enjoy the now. Life is now. Fear of death means fear of life, truly. So, becoming acquainted with the modalities and parameters of one’s death or what comes after should mean fine-tuning and embracing all of this life’s settings and dimensions. We have to apply principles of giving to self and others while we are still breathing. But we must also know when it is time to sign a “DNR” (Do Not Resuscitate) on certain maladaptive beliefs or unhealthy behaviors that we cling to—a clinging that, I believe, can prolong emotional suffering.

By putting my death in order, I am hoping to cultivate more ordered and functional mental space and more mindful daily living. I’ve also realized that, more so than any material wealth I may have amassed, my spiritual legacy is the most enduring asset I can leave to not only my three sons and their cousins, but to the generations of future doctors I’ve had the honor to teach during my career. There is no dollar amount attached to the philosophies and insights cultivated throughout a lifetime.