Recent events brought to my attention, that I might not live to be a hundred as I planned. I mean don’t get me wrong, nothing has changed, I still plan on sitting on the porch of an assistant living home – high up in my 90’s. I will be listening to “Uprising” by Muse -just to rock the boat- and my husband will be right by my side, sipping his watered down beer through a straw.
We will rock together, that’s the plan, but life has the tendency to look at my plans and change them exactly then, when I think I have it all figured out. Been there, done that!
So I sat down and started to write my Living Will, even added things that should be in my last will -if I would have one. I don’t want to be buried in soil and I don’t want to have a memorial service. Instead spread my ashes on a place where I can see natures beauty and have a memorial party on my birthday.
You can have all my organs -should be taken out before the cremation- but you can’t have my face or my brain (both are personal).
Then I finally wrote down everything what the Living Will is all about; how I want to be allowed to die. I continued writing down my wishes about live support and resuscitation and all of a sudden I stopped. “Honey, why is it called a living will, when everything has to do with my death?”
No answer…just a look form my knight-in-shining armor.
Think about it, I am not writing down how I want to live, I am making a list on how I wish to die and how I wish to be treated after my death.
Shouldn’t we rename that thing and call it “Death Wish?” I got another look when I told him about my idea, what made me laugh out loud.
We have this life-and-death thing so often wrong. We call it prolonging life, while we actually prolong death, when we force people to continue to suffer with fatal diseases. We call it a living will, when we talk about our death.
It was actually an enjoyable experience to plan everything before and after my demise. “Que sera sera…what ever will be, will be,” but now I have a say in it and I go figure…I like that.