Giving, devising, and bequeathing

I'm re-writing my will.

In old movies, you would see me escorted into the august presence of a famed probate attorney in an intimidatingly beautiful office, a white-haired sage who would remove his glasses, clean them on a handkerchief, and ask his secretary to "bring some coffee for this gentleman."  Since I'm an attorney myself, however, although not specifically a probate attorney, some of the glamor and mystique is lost from the process.

Instead of entrusting my fortune to the skills of an avuncular expert, I find myself drafting the document at home, sitting at my computer, coffee in an old mug beside me, and occasionally brushing a cat out of the way.. 

My last "Last Will and Testament" was prepared and executed almost exactly 13 years ago.  Time has passed, but  I'm making no dramatic changes -- merely bringing it up to date.  Since all of my heirs are now as adult and responsible as they're ever going to be, I'm able to eliminate trust provisions from my will, provisions that occupied a large portion of the former document. 

It's tempting to do something dramatic.  Courses in law school reveal examples of how elderly tycoons attempt to continue in power after their death by imposing bizarre requirements on their heirs --  and the ways the desires of makers of wills have been carried out or thwarted, by courts and by the avarice of beneficiaries or would-be beneficiaries. .

Days in law school were spent mastering, or attempting to master, the twists and turns of the common law "Rule Against Perpetuities" -- an arcane but important rule that limits the extent to which you can control what happens to your property once you kick the bucket.  You may be able to prohibit your heirs from selling the family mansion for a generation or two, but not for centuries into the future as you had always hoped. 

Most of the complexities of the law of wills and trusts arose originally out of ancient disputes over great fortunes.  Having no family mansion, let alone a great fortune to accompany it, the temptation to entangle my heirs in legal disputes that would cost a fortune to resolve is less insistent.  My temptations run more along the line of wanting to leave a large amount in trust for the perpetual benefit of orphaned cats.  Or, less grandiosely, to maintain my own cats in the manner to which they have become accustomed for the rest of their allotted nine lives.

It's pleasant to consider first the shock, then the incredulity, then the horror, and then the despair on my beneficiaries' faces as the meaning of the conditions I've imposed by my will sink in.  But I'm a reasonable guy, even as I shuck off  these mortal coils. And I'm fortunate in having reasonable and compassionate heirs, all of whom will (without being asked) happily care for my cats, my books, my second grade spelling papers, and other precious markers of my life.

Beyond the legal complexities of a will's contents, the psychological stress involved in drafting a will is more interesting than the dry questions posed to us by our Wills and Trusts professors.  I am somehow forced to concede -- else why write a will? -- that the world will continue to exist after my demise, that my younger relatives will continue to live lives that are as important to them as my own life has been to me.  Rationally, I've always known this, of course, but emotionally I've always suspected that at the instant of death, the play will be over.  The sets will be stricken, the props put in storage, and my family members will take off their costumes and gather back in central casting for a final cast party before looking for new jobs.

Too much thought along these lines leads to madness, of course, so I'll return to the physical chore of drafting my revised will.  As I suggested earlier, the new will is going to be simpler than the old will, because of the elimination of trust provisions.  Therefore, all I have to do is tinker with a few percentages and numbers, make sure I still like the same charities as I did in 2005, clean up the language, and do a tedious bit of typing.

And then locate two witnesses and a notary, and gather them all in the same room with me for the imposing "Execution of the Last Will and Testament."  Voilà.  That should take care of me for another 13 years.