On a frigid October morning, my husband and I received a phone call that changed everything. It was the first day we noticed frost, signaling that the air was too chilly for our daughter to play outside. Instead, we decided to indulge in a warm breakfast at Perkins—chocolate chip pancakes for her and steaming cups of coffee for us.
As we finished our meal, my husband’s phone buzzed. It was his father, leaving a voicemail—a rarity that instantly raised our concerns. My husband stepped outside to return the call while I stayed inside, distracted by sips of coffee and the unease brewing within me. When he came back, he shared that a family member was hospitalized but stable. However, the news didn’t stop there. A close friend of my brother-in-law, only 30 years old, had suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm and was in a coma after surgery.
My heart sank. I didn’t know him well, but the news hit me like a ton of bricks. It brought back memories of my own father, who died of a similar condition when he was just 39, leaving behind a young widow and two small children. This news jolted me into a contemplation of my own mortality.
I don’t have any serious health issues that I’m aware of, but I am aware of my genetic predisposition to aneurysms. With my family history—my father’s tragedy and my aunt’s multiple occurrences—I knew I couldn’t ignore the possibility of facing a similar fate. At that moment, I recognized a crucial task ahead of me: I needed to create a living will.
My father had not passed away immediately. He lingered in a vegetative state for eight agonizing days, during which my mother faced the harrowing choice of whether to sign a do-not-resuscitate order or consider organ donation. I desperately wanted to prevent my husband and daughter from ever facing such a dilemma.
One evening at dinner, I broached the topic with my husband. “I started drafting a living will today,” I said, though my voice trembled. He responded with his usual sarcasm, wondering if we needed a lawyer for it. “Yes,” I replied, “but it’s something we can handle ourselves. There’s software available for it, and considering everything that’s happened lately, it’s been weighing on my mind.”
After a moment of reflection, he agreed. We began discussing the process and our end-of-life wishes. While we had talked about this before, this was the first time we approached it seriously and legally. It was both comforting and unsettling.
What’s more challenging? Drafting a living will that outlines medical care preferences or avoiding the conversation and leaving loved ones to make difficult choices alone? Although it might have been a somber dinner conversation, it ultimately enriched our lives. Life is uncertain, and death is inevitable. Thanks to our discussion and the steps we took, my family will know my wishes, relieving them of the burden of making decisions during a time of grief.
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In the end, taking proactive steps like creating a living will is not just about planning for the worst; it’s about ensuring peace of mind for you and your loved ones.