Last Will and Testament, You know, Just in Case

By the time you’re reading this, surgery will be over and done with. That’s good.

My brain is getting the best of me. On the outside, I look like this:

I'm cool. Rockin' the track suit.

I’m cool. Rockin’ the track suit.

But on the inside, I think I kind of feel like this:

Not so cool. But still rockin' the track suit.

Not so cool. But still rockin’ the track suit.

How do I know? Maybe because I feel the anxiety sneaking up on me. And sometimes with no warning I screamed out expletives. And squawked like a chicken. Or maybe because it’s almost midnight and I’m working on a blog post with a pile of medical forms sitting next to me that I have yet to fill out.  As the nice lady at the surgical center reminded me today, anything could happen, and I should be prepared.  I realized there are things I need to say in case things go wrong.

To my husband: My years with you have been something else. We  married so young. At 23 I didn’t always make the best decisions, but man, I really nailed that one.  No regrets, babe. I’d say yes again in a skinny minute. As we discussed, my wish is to be cremated and the ashes made into a diamond, which you will then wear someplace very tender so that I can continue to be a constant irritation to you. It will be almost like I’m still with you, except you’ll have to make your own coffee. Don’t eat my MoonPies until you’re sure I’m really dead. Poke me with a stick a few times if you have to.

To my Girl-child: You are growing into a remarkable young woman. May your college years be filled with wonder. You can have my iPod if you promise not to delete Minecraft. You can imagine me hanging in the Nether. And take care when choosing guys and tattoos. They’re a lot the same – choose the wrong one, and they hang around forever and are a real and expensive pain  to get rid of.

To the Padawan: I look with pride at how you are growing up, the choices you’re making for yourself, the responsibility you are taking. You can have my Harry Potter Legos. You just can’t actually open them. You’re welcome.

To Squish: Look at you, big kid! You’re learning to read! You can have ALL my Mercer Mayer books. We like Little Monster the best, don’t we? My wish for you is that you grow up to be like your dad, but with less of a fascination for looking over your left shoulder when you drive.

To the guys in the Herpetology department: thanks for making me one of the guys. It was even better than I could have imagined. If we hatch any Angolan pythons this year, I’m taking all the credit. Don’t screw it up.

So there. Hopefully in a few hours, I’ll be safely tucked back into my own bed with a cat at each corner. Until then, friends, peace.



16 thoughts on “Last Will and Testament, You know, Just in Case

  1. Hopefully all went well, and the anxiety wasn’t too bad before the op. That stuff can be scary, I know! But, I’m sure you were in great hands. 🙂

  2. Hope everything went well! And that you are reading this tanked up on some nice painkillers and haagen daz.

    And if not, hope you specified the green track suit as your burial outfit. I don’t know that one has really rocked a track suit until they’ve rocked it in the hereafter.

A penny for your thoughts! And by penny, I mean a warm-fuzzy in your heart.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s