Affairs in Order

Some may view this life task as morbid.  For me (and consequently, Earl) it's just housekeeping and organization.  Spoiler alert: We're all going to die sometime.  I figured that if I can discuss depression*, leaky bladders** and suicide***, I can certainly talk about end–of–life issues.  I appreciate that, to some people, such decisions are personal and private.  But, that never stopped me from blogging before.

Earl and I wanted to minimize the hassles falling to a surviving spouse or children at a difficult time. Nothing would be worse than to have them wondering, "What would mom and dad want?"  Instead, our children encouraged us (or rather me) to stop blabbing about it already. 

POLSTs everywhere...

To that end, Earl and I updated our wills, trusts,  durable powers of attorney, and Oregon's POLST (Physician's Orders for Life–Sustaining Treatment).   The POLST forms needed to be signed by our healthcare provider and entered into our health records. (Skeeter now sports a bright pink POLST tag, there's a sticker on the back of our driver's license and obnoxious magnets on the oven). Woe unto the well–meaning person who gives inappropriate CPR.  Someone explained to me the difference between an Advanced Directive and a POLST, but I'm still confused.

Have notary stamp, will travel

Earl and I thought getting our important documents signed and notarized would be a slam dunk, but no-ooo.  Our bank had always done that for us easily and for free, so I made an appointment and we showed up on time.  Turns out banks can't notarize wills, so we had to go home, having learned that not all notaries are alike.  Some documents needed only our signatures, others our notarized signatures.  Wills need to be witnessed and their signatures (not ours) notarized.  Oy!  Give me strength!  After realizing that no single institution had everything we needed, we opted to have a notary come to the house.  Our friends agreed to come over and witness the wills.  I think the task's been accomplished, but I'm not sure. I may have discovered why people don't get around to this.  It's a pain in the ass!

However, those are the obvious end-of-life decisions.  We turned our focus to the less obvious ones that can be such a nuisance to deal with these days.  Bank accounts, passwords, door locks, smart phone passcodes, address lists, Facebook, for Pete's sake!  Even though I know it's just computerized advertising, it still creeps me out when I get a Facebook post from my late relative who died two years ago.

I'm taking the scooter

Should I get hit by a truck while riding Skeeter, the children need to know that Craigslist is an efficient way to sell what's left of her (and Thelma & Louise).  I found that disabled people and elders are a great target group. They haunt (pardon the pun) Craigslist, knowing there's always stuff on there if they're just patient and strike while the iron is hot (or when the former user is ...uh...cold).

At a friend's recommendation, we joined the Neptune Society, a pre–paid cremation service.  Since erecting another great pyramid was out given our non-belief in an afterlife and lack of 1000 slaves, making minimal 'arrangements' in advance seemed logical.  The idea that no one would ever have to walk into an establishment was just too attractive to pass up.  Having one number to call, from anywhere in the world, sounded great to us.  When the Neptune Society representative came to the house, she explored our final needs, but wasn't quite prepared for our cavalier attitude.

Now a card–carrying member

Embalming?

"Not in this lifetime!  Uhh, I mean no thanks", we said.

Cremated remains buried in coffin?
"No thanks", we said.
Cremated remains scattered at sea?
"No thanks", we said.
 When she discovered that Earl had been in the military for two years, she asked if we wanted full military honors.

"No thanks", we said.

She shook her head when I tried to explain our view of the difference between spending time in the military and serving in the military, so I just gave up and pointed to the tree waiting for our ashes in the backyard ****.
"You're kidding", she said.   Having heard that before, we assured her we were not*****.

Since this was a 'no frills' package, two days later, our Neptune storage boxes arrived UPS (for important papers and ashes), we put them in our closet and told the kids where to find them when the need arose.  
"Give me a break!" came the eye–rolling response.

Once again, technology played a part in our planning.  Earl had already put most of our bills on autopay.  Paying bills automatically saves time and is one less thing to be concerned about.  He replaced our old front door lock with a digital one that can be locked and unlocked remotely.  Our various accounts and passwords are entered into a phone app (of course there's an app for that).   We are automated, protected and prepared as best we can be.  If there's something we forgot, it won't be our problem.

One more thing—The 'family conversation'.  Our children are used to my 'If I ever [fill in the blank], "Shoot me" cracks, knowing no one will.  But this was serious and I had to respectfully balance my flippant sarcasm with their difficulty discussing the topic.  Surprise, surprise—Earl was more sensitive than me.  Overall, we think they have an idea how we view quality at the end of life.  They can handle their parents' differing (but pretty much on the same page) plug–pulling criteria.

Question: Organ donation? Answer: Sure, if there are any parts worth taking.

Question: Food?  Answer: Sure. Put that tray over there.  If I can get to it, fine. If not, too bad.

Question: CPR?  Answer: Sure, if you see me go down.  If you find me down and unresponsive, step away.

Question: Wine?  Answer: Always, unless I'm dead.

The lesson:  Whew!  That's taken care of.  Now on to Maui and planning the next road trip.

Update:  For the sake of completeness and to add to the 'conversation', I sent this email to Earl, Heidi, and Jason.

This week, we lost another old friend.  Not that anyone needs to be told about the unpredictability (blah, blah, blah) of life, but I was reminded of another potentially stressful task around the sudden exit of a loved one.  To check off another housekeeping chore, a “gift” to help you avoid hurt feelings at a time when you may not be overly concerned with the feelings of others. 

In my Contacts, is a group entitled “The List”.  It contains anyone who would possibly care that I got hit by a truck on my scooter.  It’s possible that there might be both omissions and duplicates, but unlikely.  If there are, tell them to take it up with me (good luck with that).  I wanted to avoid that dilemma of “who should I contact?, did I forget anyone? (both our fathers did and they were never forgiven), would this person even care?, is she still alive? (well, she obviously wouldn’t care)”.  Love and you're welcome, Mom

*Previous post:  Snap out of it!
**Previous post:  Untoward Exits
***Previous post:  The "S" word
 ****Previous post:  Bringing Down the House, paragraph 13
 *****Previous post:  The Bucket List Trip, paragraph 6