When I was growing up, every time my parents left to go on a vacation without the kids, they would post their itinerary on the fridge, remind us to behave for whichever relative was in charge that week, and then, almost as an afterthought, say, “The wills are in the cabinet.”
Whether they were flying to Greece for three weeks or driving to New Hampshire for a long weekend, the simple yet jarring reminder was always the same. The wills are in the cabinet.
My siblings and I didn’t take them too seriously. I recall more than a few eye rolls, but we knew what cabinet they meant. The metal one in the basement that held all sorts of documents, from schoolwork my mother chose to save to savings bonds that hadn’t yet matured — and the wills.
My parents weren’t morbid, they were practical
Their actions set a tone. One that I didn’t really appreciate until I had my own family.
Talking about death and estate planning can feel uncomfortable, especially in American culture, where we tend to avoid the topic. For my parents, though, death wasn’t a taboo topic; it was simply part of the logistics of life. Until we were in our twenties, they would also often add, “Aunt Debbie is in charge if anything happens.”
They weren’t morbid about it; they were practical. They still are. As we got older, they started talking more openly about what was in their wills.
When I got pregnant, I made my own will
When I found out I was pregnant, one of the first things I did, along with daydreaming about names and browsing nursery furniture, was create a will.
I update it periodically, for instance, when I bought a house, and when we got a dog. Not because I am pessimistic, but because I was raised for it to just be a part of life.
My parents modeled that type of planning for me in countless ways. They’ve always believed in preparing for the inevitable, not out of fear, but out of kindness.
My mom is a big fan of Swedish death cleaning — the Scandinavian concept of decluttering one’s life so that loved ones don’t have to deal with piles of stuff after they’re gone. Annoyingly, this often results in her showing up at my house with a box of things she’s saved from my school years, but I do appreciate the effort she’s made to declutter the house they’ve lived in for nearly four decades.
It’s a little dark, sure, but also deeply caring. When families normalize these conversations, they remove the uncertainty that often exacerbates the difficulty of grief. My siblings and I will never have to guess what our parents would have wanted, or fight over who’s in charge. We already know. The wills are in the cabinet.
The habits of my parents have stuck with me
Now, as I plan trips with my own family, I catch myself channeling my mom. Before we leave, I make sure our documents are in order. I check my guardianship designations.
Because, as strange as it sounds, that simple phrase — the wills are in the cabinet — has come to mean something bigger. It’s not about expecting the worst. It’s about loving the people who will be left behind enough to make things easier for them.
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