We were fortunate enough to have been able to participate in the Wills for Heroes program. The attorney we worked with said that a will is most important for parents of minor children. Us. YOU?
But then, you have to think about who would raise your children were you no longer here. ACK. Torture! NO ONE would raise them as well, love them as deeply as I do. But I'm surrounded with lovely people in my life. So I say to my executor, "You're going to have to do this for me. Because what if I choose "Sam and Sally," But they're breeding rottweilers at the time of our death and have no spare room? What if I choose, "Charlie and Charlene," but they're about to embark on a two-year Safari? What if I choose Mark and Mary but they suddenly decide they're REPUBLICANS?! (teehee)" No one knows these circumstances. So...beware...you might be on the list. (Don't worry...they're cute rugrats.)
Then the attorney gives me a list to write down my personal property and who I would like it to go to (who wants the captain's Dodge Stratus?!). But I realize I have no valuable personal property. Except my wedding ring. THAT, my friends, is valuable. Well, kind of. Sentimentally.
But then I have to consider it. I don't have a daughter, so to whom would it go? The boys? How about whoever gets married first is welcome to give it to his fiancée. If he doesn't want it, the next to be married can use it, or the third. If no one wants it, screw 'em.
When we were engaged, Cory's 1974 Camaro got stolen from his parking garage. He was devastated. So sad. He loved that car. (I'm exaggerating. He had actually tried to sell it shortly before it was lifted.) With the insurance money (LUCKY!), he was able to buy me my ring. Every year, on our anniversary, I'm obligated to give it a little "vroom, vroom."
So...Cory suggests the boys sell my ring and buy a retro Camaro. Say WHAAA? The only way I'll agree to that is if the boys buy it jointly and use it for weekend car trips...brother time. I wrote that in the will; don't try to mess with me.
At any rate, don't bury me with it. That's a waste.
So that's settled. One day of alternating weeping and planning.
All for a document I will NEVER NEED.