“It's got to be more than flesh and bone. All that you've loved is all you own”
-    Tom Waits & Kathleen Brennan, Take it With Me

This has been a tough month. I lost two people who were dear to me. One was 94; the other 54. Neither was a complete surprise, and yet. It is hard getting used to the idea that they are no longer walking among us. They were both inspirational human beings, which makes the loss even harder. We need more inspirational people in this world. 

I met Betty the first week after Greg and I moved to the desert in 2021 when her great grandniece invited me to join in celebrating Betty’s 90th birthday. I expected to meet someone close to death – in a wheelchair, perhaps. I expected she would be quietly sitting in the corner. But that wasn’t the case. Seated at the center of the table, Betty was the life of the party. She asked me all kinds of questions and we ended up meeting for lunch a few weeks later. We continued to meet about once a month for the next four years.

She would tell me stories about her life – how she grew up in Minnesota with a father who ran a night club; about meeting Jackie Robinson because no one else would give him a place to sleep. She talked about the photo shoots she went on during her days in the fashion business and told me about butting up against management when she asked for a raise back when she was a single mother raising three boys in Los Angeles. When she was in her 70s, Betty lost her husband and went to work as the buyer for the Palm Springs Art Museum. Well into her 80s, she traveled to conventions across the country to pick out merchandise for the store. Incredible, eh? 

Up until six months or so ago, Betty still drove herself to our lunch and dinner dates. In 2022, she hosted Thanksgiving at her house and cooked the entire meal. In 2023, when my parents and her great grandniece were visiting at the same time, she invited us all over for salmon and salad and potatoes. She read the paper every day and would always be able to talk about the latest news, even though it made her sad to see that after a lifetime of championing women’s rights and gay rights, progress felt elusive. Up until a few months ago, Betty made quilts. The last one was for her great grandchild, and it was a feat that seemed to keep her going. She would tell me how hard it was getting to do simple tasks, and how frustrated she was that she didn’t have the energy or the strength anymore.

 As it turned out, her lung cancer had returned. (Yes, returned. Betty was a lung and breast cancer survivor.) The doctors said she could have three months or two years. But six weeks later she was gone. As one of her sons said to me, “We all thought Betty would go on forever.” She was larger than life.

 I often think of a passage in Annie Dillard book’s For the Time Being, where she travels to Shaanxi Province to see the archeologists unearthing the terra cotta army of Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China. It is widely believed that each soldier was modeled after a real individual, and Dillard speculates what it must have been like for the models to see the replicas of themselves buried with the emperor in his tomb. One day we will all be six feet under. We all know this is where we are headed. But we scurry about - buying groceries and vacuuming floors and going to work – and generally behaving like we have many many tomorrows left in the bag. 

And maybe we will. But maybe we won’t. My other friend, Keith, was diagnosed a year and a half ago with ALS. Keith was the husband of one of my oldest friends, and I had watched him be her cheerleader over the preceding year and a half, when an accident left her quadriplegic. Keith was possibly the most upbeat person I have ever met. He always looked like he was going to break out in a smile. Even a week before his death, when ALS had made it difficult for him to talk, he was cracking jokes.

Keith lived long enough to raise a kind and smart son who is wise beyond his years. He lived long enough to see his wife recover much of her mobility and independence after her accident. But he left us long before he got to quit working and spend his days hiking and skiing and bee-keeping. It’s crazy to think that Betty outlived him by 40 years(!).

We do not know when our time will come. But we have a choice about how to live it. We can be the person who is always about to crack a smile. We can be the one who jumps in and marches alongside the disenfranchised and spends holidays in service.  We can challenge ourselves to live the kind of life and be the kind of person that will be missed.

When I asked Betty once what kept her going, she said three things:

1. Wake up with a purpose. Whether it was working on her quilts, doing a jigsaw puzzle, or reading the paper, Betty had a daily list of things she wanted to accomplish.

2. Give back. She was active on boards until just this past year, and every Christmas she served dinner to the homeless.

3. Surround yourself with friends. Research shows that having friends of many ages is great for longevity, and Betty had many friends of all ages. 

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Since I now have you thinking about everyone’s favorite subject, here are some practical things to think about while you’re still on the surface:
-    Are your accounts and your property titled correctly? Will they pass easily to your heirs upon your death? Here’s an overview on the topic – but if you haven’t talked about this with someone, please reach out.
-    Is there enough money to cover the loss to your family if you were to pass unexpectedly? If not, it’s high time you had an insurance discussion. 
-    Are you living your life with intention? If you are a client, you know this is at the heart of your wealth plan. Reach out if you want to revisit your plan or if you’re new to wealth planning and you want to put one in place. And if you don't know where to start, read this post about my father, The Clipboard King. A life of purpose begins with stating your intentions.