My Inheritance Is a House Full of Dead People
When not planning for the end turns into the macabre
It was an early Tuesday morning. I sat on the sofa in the living room of my parent’s house, staring at the urn on the mantel that contained my mother. Without missing a beat, I turned around and looked at the antique hutch behind me, which held the urn with my sister. Then it hit me; When my dad dies and I’m the only one left, I’ll have to deal with my entire family.
What the actual f***.
Plan? What plan?
My mother had a long, nasty battle with Alzheimer’s disease. It caused chaos, fatigue, hoarding, and a mess, in both the house and my father's brain as the solo caregiver.
Decades ago, while I was in my 30s and my parents were in their 60s I tried to talk to them about future planning. Basic conversations such as, “What are your plans for retirement? Do you know if you want to stay here or downsize? Do you even have a plan?”
I was the younger daughter, the baby, therefore, most of the serious conversations were discussed with my big sister. She had a copy of their will, which we read together while drunk in our 20s, and I had nothing but curiosity. As we aged and I became more well-versed in things like retirement, 401k’s, social security…
