When I tell people I’m a Will Writer, I get one of two reactions. The first is a polite, slightly horrified smile, as if they’ve just learned I’m a professional grave-digger. The second is a long, awkward silence, as they suddenly remember they haven’t gotten around to that
bit of admin yet. They picture me in a dusty office, surrounded by legal textbooks, dressed in a funeral suit and humming a Gregorian chant.
The reality, however, is far more bizarre. I don’t spend my days contemplating mortality; I spend them mediating family feuds before they even start, and trying to decipher the human capacity for holding grudges long after they’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. I’ve
seen it all, from the sublime to the utterly ridiculous. And for the record, all names and identifying details have been changed to protect my clients’ privacy.
Take, for instance, a recent client I’ll call Derek. Derek was a bachelor in his late 70s with a magnificent head of white hair and a deeply serious expression. He wasn’t concerned about his house or his savings. No, Derek’s great love was his colossal vinyl
collection—thousands of records, each meticulously logged in a spreadsheet he’d been maintaining since 1972.
His nephew, Mike, was set to inherit the lot. But Derek wanted to ensure the vinyl was treated with respect. His primary concern was what he called the “I-don’t-get-it” clause. He wanted me to write into his will a legally binding clause that if Mike ever sold a single
record from the collection, or, worse, admitted to anyone that he “just didn’t get the sound of analogue,” his inheritance was to be immediately diverted to a charity for homeless hamsters. I spent an hour trying to explain that the courts would likely find the
condition “unreasonable.” Derek just stared at me, deadpan. “Then they don’t get the sound of analogue, either,” he said.
Moral of the story:
But in between all the vinyl clauses, there’s a serious lesson I’ve learned. And it’s a simple one: Your last act of love is to not leave a mess.
No one wants to think about the end, I get it. It’s a bit of a grim topic for a Friday night down the pub. But from my vantage point, the biggest fights, the deepest grudges, and the most complicated headaches aren’t caused by a lack of money. They’re caused by a lack of clarity.
A will isn’t about dying; it’s about living with peace of mind. It’s about giving your family a clear roadmap so they don’t have to guess what you wanted.
So please, for the love of all that is legally sound, don’t leave your loved ones to untangle a mess. Get your affairs in order. Otherwise, your prized vinyl collection might just end up funding a charity for rodents. And trust me, you don’t want to be remembered for that.
