Untitled (Or, The Importance of Recognizing Your Mortality)

It goes without saying that 2020 has been one hell of a year. And we still have 2 months to go.

Apart from the anxiety, the dark days, and hoping that my ears aren’t permanently deformed by everything they have to carry lately (mask elastic, earphones, earrings, kitchen sink etc), I’ve been dealing with the loss of several family members. In quick succession.


Not being able to attend funerals, and then not being able to hug people if I can attend, has weighed heavily on me. I’m a hugger, so this pandemic is tough.


What has been even harder is the fact that funerals, for me, are still very triggering. Every funeral I attend takes me right back to when we laid my Dad to rest. The hymns, the readings, the wreaths- I literally get transported back in time and have to remind myself to breathe. Every time someone I know loses a father, I want to hold them and tell them how sorry I am, that I understand that feeling of the earth falling out from under your feet.


And I miss my Dad. Dear God, I miss him. There are so many things I want to tell him, to ask him. I long to hear his voice. His laugh. I want to smell his aftershave. I even want to see that look he’d give over the top of his newspaper when he thought I was chatting nonsense.


But I have learned, in these moments, to be grateful. Grateful for the lessons he left behind. On so many levels.


Recently, I came across a show on TV (to be honest, I tuned in because Dr Mitch was hosting and I hadn’t seen or heard him in a while). The show is about different aspects of security- burglar bars, alarm systems, cybersecurity and so on. The episode I caught was about posterity, wills- all the stuff many of us don’t like talking about.


I find it strange that a society, ridden with cases of family disputes and murders regarding land and property, perpetuates the idea that writing one’s will is morbid. I am so grateful that at the time of his death, my Dad had everything in order. My Mum, the love of his life, is taken care of. Which is what matters.


I remember the first time I wrote my own will. Granted, it wasn’t witnessed by a lawyer, which is understandable considering the fact that I was about 14 years old, and just wanted to be clear about who would get my collection of Michael Jackson and Jamiroquai posters, and how I want my flute placed in my coffin with me when my time comes. Of course, as I’ve gotten older, details such as next of kin have been duly registered. (Petty as I am, I’m considering a guest list for my funeral. Don’t come and weep louder than the bereaved when you KNOW you hated my guts before I shuffled off this mortal coil.)


I guess all I’m trying to say is, planning for your demise (which is inevitable) does not make it any more certain, nor does it hasten the date of its arrival. And you don’t need to be a millionaire or an elderly person to plan for what happens to your property. Think of the mess you could leave behind for your loved ones if you don’t.

Write your will. And keep updating it if necessary. It’s not morbid- it’s common sense.


And could prevent unsavoury characters from turning up at your going-away party for free food and theatrics. I’m ready to haunt anyone who does so at mine. Stand warned.


*Here’s a link to the episode of The Sekanyolya Security Show that got me thinking. It airs every Sunday at 7.40pm on NBS. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwJ7dzFXiKU . Follow @sekanyolyaug on Twitter.

Comments

  1. Brenda16 March 2021 at 20:58

    You managed to bring humour/wit to a serious topic. I enjoyed reading this, especially the bit about the will you wrote when you were 14

    ReplyDelete

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