I’m writing my will today. I’m doing it online on one of those forms which claim to be free until you finish filling in all the boxes and predictably ‘click’ into a part of the site which states you can only see the finished product if you pay some money. Yes, I’m even trying to find a bargain way to deal with my own death.
It seems that writing one’s will is rather enlightening. It focusses the mind. It focusses the heart. It makes you realise just how incredibly single-minded and single-hearted you’ve become. Almost every single box I’m filling in contains one name, my son’s. Who would you like to give your house to? My son. Who would you like to give every penny you’ve earned to? My son. Who would you donate every organ of your body to? My son. Who would you like to give a piece of your mind to? My son. It all flows out instinctively, without thought, without question. It is a truly overwhelming thing to love someone this much. I come from an extremely close family. I love my sister and my mum more than anything in the world...except my son. I love my husband-to-be (still) immensely. Nothing compares to how I feel about my son. He is everything. He will always be everything.
Phew. It’s just that isn’t it rather unbelievable that you can produce a little being you love this much all by yourself (almost)? Where the hell did he come from? How could he possibly have come from me? I, after all, am pretty ca ca poo poo a lot of the time. I think that if the truth be told, I am absolutely petrified of how much I love my little boy. I think sometimes I block off the intensity of that feeling or at least float above it for fear of it becoming intoxicating. I feel that sometimes I just don’t feel enough. And then, having said that, sometimes I feel far too much. It’s strange - it comes in waves.
I think that every parent does that a little bit, learns to hold their heart in slightly, because otherwise you’d spend your entire time in a state of total anxiety. After all, nothing is more terrifying than the possibility of losing your everything.
And what if they lost you? I’m now at that bit in the will where you have to decide who would look after your child if both you and his father died at the same time. I didn’t even have to think about that one - my sister. Of course, I had to ask her permission and she kindly agreed. Could she really have said ‘no’, though? ‘I’m sorry, your son is far too pesky - you’ll have to find someone else’.
I’m almost at the ‘paying for it’ section of the form, now. I do actually sometimes feel like I should pay some penance for being given this little gift of a boy, for pretending that I deserve him. Perhaps that’s where the PND came from. I know that I’m doing some ‘mum things’ right-ish (or am I?), but could I be doing them better? I’m sure I could be doing them better. Must work harder. Must prove myself worthy.
I didn’t mean this post to edge toward the darker side of things...even though it’s about my will. Filling in this abbreviated, materialistic version of my life and loves has actually made me feel rather warm and happy. I have not only a lot of people I love very deeply and want to give a gift to when I depart, but also a little boy who makes everything worthwhile: I’d gladly give him everything and eventually I will.
There actually are a few boxes on this form which don’t contain my son’s name - the ‘special gifts’ sections. I’m leaving my underwear, CDs and jewellery to my oldest friends and my dust-buster (yes), magic bin, part of my book collection and money for a Flokati rug to my newest ones. They’ll know why...and I’m sure my son will understand eventually.
In case this has freaked you out: I’m not dying - I’ve just never got around to writing a will. Something to do with my refusal to grow up. Writing wills is something parents and adults do.