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by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
I am now at the stage of life where one of the unexpected pleasures is the satisfaction and serenity one gets from a will well done. Should you be a youngster of say, 45 or so, you might regard the creation of a will as the most onerous of nagging responsibilities. I know; I used to think that way myself.
One thing exacerbating that feeling for me was my mother, now gone. It was my duty, eagerly passed to me by my sister and brother; so desperate to toss this hot potato to me that they lavished unheard of compliments, sweet words, and often too, they had never rendered to me before -- or since.
They knew, Poor Old Mother (universally known as POM) would be, say, difficult, on this matter, procrastinating, exasperating, insisting. We loved her anyway... it was who she was and from whence we came.
As a result I resolved, as children will do, to do things differently when my time came.
It has come.
And I believe I am living up to my goal, both in the original creation of the will and, even more importantly, in keeping this will do-to-date and current; you see, a will while you continue to cavort on this planet is not final; it is always a work in progress. It becomes final (if you've done it right) only upon your final breath. Until then it is subject to change... a fact which you and every other person connected to this document must never forget.
There are those, of course, certain to use this fact to control their expectant heirs, to cause them irritation, frustration, even despair.Some folks, of a carping disposition, enjoy having those who will remain on this planet while you are planted 6 feet deep dance attendance, cringe, every one an incipient Uriah Heap, so very humble.... delivering ersatz sentiments along with rich auntie's daily medications.
A legion of literary works, often great like Dickens and Thackeray, or of no significance whatsoever (it is a favor to these authors not to say who) exists on the subject. Here a will, a well known plot device, is used as an implement of control, cruelty, revenge and bitterness. Those people without a sou to their names would be willing to hover; a chance at riches, even such a humiliating chance, is better than no chance at all.
But these are not the people the about-to-be- departed want to control with their wills. By no means.
They want to control the proud, the robust, the most vibrant of their would-be heirs. These, and only these, are worth controlling for to control them indicates just how much life the giver still has. To control is to live... and they mean to live on and fully even if only for an instant, life is so precious.
One who knew all this, and more, was Madame de Maintenon, morganatic wife of the greatest sovereign of all, Louis XIV. Madame knew just how steep are the stairs of the charitable. She had climbed these forbidding, humiliating stairs... and when her time came she used this profound knowledge to cause the highest in the land to wait upon her favor, which was but slowly, exquisitely given. She was a woman with a rare will indeed...
Think what Edgar Allan Poe would have made of this insight, where the testamentary, thought to be dead and gone, yet reaches a gnarled hand from within the casket, grabbing the astounded heir by the throat, shouting "I live yet!... I live yet!... I live yet!", grasping life more fervidly at the moment of its conclusion.
But I trust you are not of this tormenting, embittered mode, for I like to think well of all my readers and whilst fascinated by such cruel folk, I do not wish to dwell amongst them long, not even to augment my fortune.
I am of a different turn of mind. And my will proves it.
I wrote my will to make the ultimate disposition of my affairs easy for all. Items from my collections are carefully marked, some to be retained by the designated heir, some to be sold for cash, which will then be divided between these same heirs... and, of course, by the government, which considers itself the universal heir.
Then there are the special bequests to the special people I have known, valued, lived with and, one way and another, loved. I give these, as you should, the greatest attention, for I aim not merely to enrich with these gifts... but to define our relationship and touch them, memento mori. This is, after all, the last word to them... and it must be intimate, candid, the well considered, the ultimate truth. As such you must think long and well about what you will say.
To this group, I have now added two names, and I want you to know them, for if you are lucky you, too, can count on the same rare friends and will wish to honor them so.
I met Aime Joseph when I jumped into his cab in front of the Sheridan Commander Hotel in Cambridge. I was hurrying, distracted, as usual planning in my mind how to do what needed to be done, faster. Aime (whom I always call, with just a touch of whimsey "Mr Joseph") was as Haitians generally are, amiable, voluble, good with people. You find many driving taxis hereabouts.
He gave me his card... and that impressed me, for it's the kind of thing I do myself and what every entrepreneur should always have available, and give. He invited me to call when I had the need... and this being a thing I did often need, I did.... and did... and did...
In due course I met his sympatica wife Mercedes, with her rich heart and the tendency to giggle and say, laughing, "Oh...... Doctor Lant!", for I am the master of the trenchant line whose full meaning only emerges later. I liked them both, enormously. And they cared for me... as became apparent during an extended hospital stay where, fiercely independent though I am, I needed help... and they were there, unasked, for me. Such things one does not forget... and does well to remember.
Recently, I told them I had something important to relate... but would only tell them if they would neither thank me nor cry (for I know their lacrimose tendencies). I said I had instructed my bank to make them a liberal bequest. Though they had promised not to thank or cry, they both broke these promises, as I knew they would. Tears upon such an occasion are sweet, a benediction. And so it was with Mr. Joseph and his dear wife -- and me, for we cried together, hugging.
Reader, it is only in novels and films where the heirs are notified after the death of their benefactors. In life, it is more sensible to make all those receiving bequests fully aware of all the facts. They deserve the clarity... and you need to know them better and be thanked before you, too, go into the sweet by and by unburdened by today's distracting reality, ready to receive your own special gift. Here you will surely get as you have given.
About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Lawrence Rinke http://ActionEqualsProfit.com.
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