Last Will and Testament of Merry Teresa O’Leary

I, Merry Teresa O’Leary, being of (mostly) sound mind and such, hereby put forth my last will and testament. 

That’s my best interpretation of legalese. Be jealous.

Although I’ve been thinking of doing it for a while now, because of my Covid scare last week, I decided today to finally stop procrastinating and make out my will. There’s a great site that’s 100% free. I have to print it out (I just bought a new, inexpensive printer online today at Mecca) and then have two witnesses sign it when I do.

I usually use the library when I need something printed but I don’t even know if libraries are even open right now. It’s just another new modern appliance to own, like the microwave was to people in the 80’s.

Dude #1: Dude, can you nuke me some popcorn?

Dude #2: No, man. I’m not paying for that stupid thing, I’ll stick with my Jiffy Pop. Old school, bro!

Ahem.

The will covers the entire enchilada. It was actually really simple. I’ve left all of my worldly possessions to my daughter. That includes the old house that I own, no mortgage. My 2005 Toyota Rav 4 with 183,000 miles on it, my Beatles records, and what have you. It’s all hers to do with as she pleases. 

She also gets my dog, which is really our dog. I was amazed that it offered a “what to do with the pets” section.

I made my daughter and brother executors. As for any kind of end of life care, I don’t want life support, I’ve asked for a DNR, no supplemental anything. Just comfort care. 

Just fill me up with fucking morphine, thank you kindly!

Easing this burden on my daughter is why my brother is second in command if it comes to that. Screw a ventilator, I watched my poor mother struggle miserably with one of those before we all decided to end her suffering, then a sudden vigorous shake of the head from her in agreement.

And as for when I do finally kick the old bucket, I want my organs donated. You know, whatever is still useful, if anything. Then I want to be cremated. My daughter and brother both get to decide what to do with my ashes. Since I’ll be dead, what do I care?

I don’t want a funeral. I want a memorial with plenty of food and alcohol. They really let you get creative with this part. I put down two songs that I want to be played, Amazing Grace and Spirit in the Sky. Maybe everyone can trip on acid.

Groovy. (I have thought about trying it before but it’s illegal and shit.)

In lieu of flowers, anyone that is so inclined can make a donation to the National Institute of Mental Health. This is for obvious reasons since I’ve had a head full of brain cooties as far back as I can remember.

My daughter wasn’t too pleased when I discussed all of this with her this evening but I told her that death is nothing to be afraid of.

My mom’s Catholic funeral cost a fortune and of course, I couldn’t help out at all because I’m poor. My decision to be cremated and not have anyone looking at my corpse is important to me. But mostly, it’s the cost factor. I want to keep it as cheap as possible for those that I leave behind. 

It’ll give me some peace of mind having this squared away. I’m 46, not in great health, the world is a dangerous place right now, and I still have icky thoughts. 

Shit, you guys, I’m pretty sure that I always will. I’m a lifer. Maybe that’s why I can write and discuss this topic with such levity. There’s just something deep inside telling me to get my affairs in order. 

So I did.

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