Although I will never write a memoir -- buried bodies will remain buried bodies -- I do tend to think of my life in narrative. What is the story? I've been home since mid-April and were you to draw a picture of my life it would be typified by sitting at this desk in this office working with various mounds of papers -- the taxes, the medical bills, the scripts, the insurance, and so on and so forth. For more than a year I've meant to re-write my will. Since the last one was signed we've moved states, I haven't stabbed my spouse, my proxy grandchild has been born, and I've inherited money and intellectual property rights from a friend. In other words, things have changed. A lot.
I've been giving a lot of thought to who gets what and why. I have my own literary estate that matters enough to me that I'd like someone to take care of it. And I want to provide for the generations after me. So now I realize that this chapter, this spring and summer, is about organizing my life in the inevitable event of my death. For someone like me doing this (although much of this work is tedious, if not downright boring) it is a "prophylactic", a cure for everything but Death. I like order, a sense of control, a certainty that things are in place. I don't consider what I'm doing death-defying behavior; this is death-acknowledging behavior. I die and my physical and intellectual property is left behind.
Part of reconstructing the life of the dead is a treasure hunt. My husband, and the rest of my family will finally have answers to questions they dare not ask me. They will be capable of seeing who I was before they knew me, before I belonged to them. That is, if they wish. My intention (if I'm able) is to leave much of it behind -- the flash drives of files, the hard copies of correspondence, the souvenirs and letters from friends and family, the mementos. Even my unfinished fiction and poetry. (Although I suspect that I'll burn all that if time and circumstance permits.)
B'lievemewhenItellyou that I'm not at all morose, just realistic.
I've been giving a lot of thought to who gets what and why. I have my own literary estate that matters enough to me that I'd like someone to take care of it. And I want to provide for the generations after me. So now I realize that this chapter, this spring and summer, is about organizing my life in the inevitable event of my death. For someone like me doing this (although much of this work is tedious, if not downright boring) it is a "prophylactic", a cure for everything but Death. I like order, a sense of control, a certainty that things are in place. I don't consider what I'm doing death-defying behavior; this is death-acknowledging behavior. I die and my physical and intellectual property is left behind.
Part of reconstructing the life of the dead is a treasure hunt. My husband, and the rest of my family will finally have answers to questions they dare not ask me. They will be capable of seeing who I was before they knew me, before I belonged to them. That is, if they wish. My intention (if I'm able) is to leave much of it behind -- the flash drives of files, the hard copies of correspondence, the souvenirs and letters from friends and family, the mementos. Even my unfinished fiction and poetry. (Although I suspect that I'll burn all that if time and circumstance permits.)
B'lievemewhenItellyou that I'm not at all morose, just realistic.
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