Customize Consent Preferences

We use cookies to help you navigate efficiently and perform certain functions. You will find detailed information about all cookies under each consent category below.

The cookies that are categorized as "Necessary" are stored on your browser as they are essential for enabling the basic functionalities of the site. ... 

Always Active

Necessary cookies are required to enable the basic features of this site, such as providing secure log-in or adjusting your consent preferences. These cookies do not store any personally identifiable data.

No cookies to display.

Functional cookies help perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collecting feedback, and other third-party features.

No cookies to display.

Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics such as the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.

No cookies to display.

Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.

No cookies to display.

Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with customized advertisements based on the pages you visited previously and to analyze the effectiveness of the ad campaigns.

No cookies to display.

Not So Willing

by | July 17, 2011

So you’ve danced your final dance, kicked the bucket, gone to a better place. The smallest vestiges of your earthly powers have evaporated; you are, for all intents and purposes, over. Except for your very own ghostly calling card, your last will and testament. It is for most, a love letter to life, a soothing note of comfort to those that are left behind. But even the best intentioned wills can turn sinister. They provide perfect conditions for family feuds, stirring up, as they do, a maelstrom of favouritism, greed and jealousy.

 

And even those Petri dishes of resentment started off in kindness. What about the final wishes that were intended to drip with vitriol? There are those that use their last, binding legal contract as a chance to spew out malice from the safety of a freshly dug grave. Upon his death in 1856 Heinrich Heine’s wife was told her late husband wanted to give her his entire estate. On one condition. He asked that she remarry: “because then, there will be at least one man to regret my death.”

 

Eighty years later, a Mr T.M. Zink left $50,000 in trust for seventy five years, hoping that its value would increase enough to fund the “Zink Womanless Library.” Had Mr Zink had his way, 2011 would have seen the six year anniversary of an institute whose boundaries women could not pass, whose books were solely written by men and even whose decor was free from the touch of female hands. It takes a certain type of man to cast his own misogynistic tendencies seventy-five years into the future.

 

Today, the concept of a bitter will seems antiquated. For the most part, we’ve reverted to standard requests with an occasional exotic burial request thrown in for good measure. Just three years ago, the family of Angel Pantoja Medina fulfilled his final wish. On the day of his wake, he was to be found embalmed and propped up against a wall, donning sunglasses and his trademark Yankee baseball cap.

It might all sound rather odd, but then again, you are only going to get one last reverberating shriek into the abyss. So make it count.

 

Image: Mike Kreszak