Confronting my own mortality in my 30s was not something I was going to do lightly. Yet, heroically, I wrote my will. The thought of facing lawyers and discussing my death was daunting and provoked a year of procrastination. I wanted to avoid dying unexpectedly and leaving chaos for my family, but finding a lawyer felt like a poor use of my limited time. It was a tedious process filled with forms and questions that seemed trivial at first.
The experience of preparing a will became an unexpected exercise in humor as I pictured how my will's executors – all strong personalities – would manage to collaborate effectively upon my death. Such exercises in imagination helped me explore not just the different outcomes but also the personalities involved and how decisions would ultimately be made after I am gone, underlining how paramount it is that such processes involve careful thought and planning.
Jealous of friends with religious beliefs who have structured rituals for navigating death, I faced an existential crisis regarding my identity. Questions about whether I consider myself Catholic haunted my notes, leaving me worrying about the implications of not confirming my faith for controlling my final wishes and the nature of my memorial service. It highlighted the disparity between those grounded in tradition and my struggle to define a secular alternative that feels equally meaningful.
While thinking about my family's history of Catholicism, I contemplated what significance it holds for my final wishes. Would secular intentions hold up against generations of tradition? Both options present a unique set of challenges and clarify how rituals shape our lives, from feeding the poor to questioning other faiths. The lack of certainty around my beliefs led to anxiety about my memorial service and whether the care I wished for would reflect my true self.
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