A Tough Day

I've reached the age where losses happen on a regular basis. DH and I lost all four parents within a five-year span. Friends and relatives are passing, no longer from accidents, but from health issues. And that's not counting those who died during the pandemic.

DH and I met with an estate planning attorney on Wednesday. It was a tough discussion as we planned through worse case scenarios. Murphy hasn't deigned to cut us a break since we met. I sincerely doubt he will do so now.

And, as if to prove his point, I've gotten bad news from people I care about today. There's nothing I can do to change their situation. Nothing I can really do to help except to listen.

It's not death itself that I fear. It's the potential pain leading up to the final moment. I don't wish that pain on anyone. Not my worst enemy. Not even Tribblehead.

If my gods or Murphy or whoever runs this cockamamie universe will grant me one wish, please let me go fast and relatively painlessly. I'd like to go out to mow or stand up to head to dinner and keel over, where I'm gone before my body hits the ground. That's how a few of my grandparents and great-grandparents died.

And a bit of me wishes for less pain for the people I've heard from today. No pain is impossible at this point, but a little less would help these people to manage their affairs before the final moment.

I also hope everyone reading had a bit of peace, too.