I Will
Married couples put off the strangest things. But even with a lot of flimsy excuses, you can't avoid planning for the worst forever.
My 5-year-old daughter, Hazel, was snuggled up on my lap not too long ago, and as I marveled at how quickly she's growing up, I found myself telling her, "You know, even when you're a grown woman, with your own family, you will always be my little girl." She clearly liked the notion and replied, "And you will always be my daddy, even when you're dead."
That Disney moment turned Tarantinoesque in a hurry. But it also made me realize that if a kindergartner has figured out that I'm not immortal, it was time to draw up my first will and testament. For 11 years of marriage, we'd been walking a tightrope without a net: Where there was a will, there was a wait. At first there were no assets, at least until we'd opened all the wedding gifts, and no kids to provide for should we die unexpectedly. By the time Hazel was born, any assets we had accumulated were quickly eaten up by the expense of a new baby. But with the birth of Teddy, our second child, the purchase of a home, and the establishment of college funds, we could put off the will no longer.
Our estate planner sent us a list of questions to answer so she could draw up the paperwork. We assumed it would be easy, since we want our kids to get everything. Just to make it interesting, I daydreamed about doing something out of one of those wacky movies, where an eccentric, wealthy parent puts wild conditions in his will, forcing his heir to go to medical school or get married within three weeks of the death to get the inheritance.
Unfortunately, the actual process - deciding who gets what and when - doesn't lend itself to those kinds of cinematic high jinks. You're too busy agonizing over who will get your children and who will take charge of the money when you die. It's not exactly life-affirming. We agreed quickly that anyone we trusted with the kids we trusted with the cash, though we learned not everyone feels that way. I now know at least one couple that has one side of the family taking custody of the children while the other side controls the dough - it's dearly-departed detente as a way of keeping in-laws in contact.
The nearly imponderable questions just kept coming, and by the time we sorted out what will happen if I pass away, or if Sara dies first, or if we both go at the same time, or if the entire family is wiped out, I felt as if I had considered more unforeseen death scenarios than the executive producer of Six Feet Under.
The closest we came to conflict was disagreeing on the age at which the kids get their trust funds if we die. Sara felt that the money should remain under the control of a trustee until each child was 25. I thought we should give them the money when they finished college, to help them start paying off student loans. Sara's logic won, though, when she reminded me that giving a 22-year-old unfettered access to a deep bankroll might result in more money going to Jack Daniel's than Sallie Mae.
When we were finally ready to sign all the papers, we enlisted our neighbors Becky and Rick to serve as witnesses. That evening, I was relieved on two fronts: I had finally done my duty to my loved ones, and, simultaneously, I had shed years of guilt. Truly I had been ashamed, and for years believed no responsible couple would have waited as long as we did. But then, as our neighbors, who have a 3-year-old, were heading out the door, they asked if we would witness their wills when they get around to writing them. We agreed, and we all laughed. But secretly I was thinking: "Just keep talking to your daughter. She's even more precocious than Hazel is. You'll be calling a planner before she's 4."
Shawn Peters intends to keep living in metro-west with his wife and kids for quite some time. E-mail comments to coupling@globe.com 