I have been walking around with my mother's will in my pocket for nine days now. Before she went to Black Images in Art Conference in Florence, Italy last week (and yes for now I'm going to bury the lead). My mother gets paranoid whenever she travels and that paranoia gets ramped up 1000 levels when she goes out of the country. Still, it caught me off guard when she re-did her will last week before she left out of town. I immediately asked her if she was hiding a terrible illness from me, and she said no.

After a little more prodding, she told me she had not re-done her will since her parents passed away in 2013 (her dad) and 2014 (her mom), and those deaths had her forced her to be face to face with her own mortality. I totally got that because when I looked at my grandparents in their respective caskets, all I could think about was death. I thought about how (un)prepared I was to deal with my parents' affairs should either one of them meet an untimely demise. Then I thought about whether my wife and I were prepared should either one of us leave this Earth in a premature fashion. Conversations like this are as uncomfortable as watching a sex scene with your parents, but they are so necessary (the conversation not the sex scenes).

Anyway, my mother came to visit me before she left for Italy, and I ended up leaving the house before she did. When I got back home from work, her new and improved will was right there on my kitchen table, and I was asked to give a copy to my brother and the executor. I made a mental note to do both of those things, and then I stuffed the will in my bag--and after that I forgot about it. I would remember whenever I removed my lunch or my book of rhymes from my work bag, but then I'd close the bag and forget, because I seem to have the memory of a man twice my age. Then today, while I was re-loading my bag with lunch and other various items, I took the will out and looked at it. I ignored the details, and oddly enough I focused on the level of detail my mother went to make sure everything was taken care of, and it made me smile. It is an odd way to receive yet another validation of my mother's love for me, but that's what happened. That could very well be a fleeting emotion that fades my lunch time (when I will re-open my will-less bag) but for now, I'm on the ninth cloud.