Death's "TO DO" List

Somehow, I thought death would be more profound. Sad, of course, but also a meaningful and poetic intersection of grief and joy. Memories of a life well spent. A reminder to the living that time is our most precious commodity. What I didn’t expect was the mundane side of death. The phone calls. The emails. The paperwork. The taxes. Death has become my “to do” list.

I think back to a year ago when I was feeling the itch for a change. A new dog? A new job? Go back to school? And in true Allison fashion, I did all three. I adopted an adorable puppy, I accepted a job teaching fifth grade at a new school, and I enrolled in a creative writing program. I filled my life right up to the brim. What I didn’t allow for was space for the unexpected. Which is a naïve error in calculations, right? Because when has life ever gone according to my well laid-out plans?

When my dad died in July, I thought, “I can handle this.” I’ve learned a lot over the last 8 months as I’ve navigated the tasks associated with my father’s will, as well as the responsibilities for the rental properties he managed. I’ve become a whiz at Excel spreadsheets, and I know more than I ever wanted to know about beneficiary IRAs. Meanwhile, I earned my certificate in creative writing, Lucky earned her certificate in puppy obedience training, and I invested time and energy into making a positive impact with my students. Whew.

Someone recently asked me, “What parts of your life bring you joy?”

“All of it,” I answered. “It all brings me joy.” It’s true. I love teaching, my family, and my friends. I love writing and hiking and walking my puppy. I even love taking care of my dad’s paperwork—seeing his familiar scrawl in his checkbook as I do his taxes, taking pride that I’m organizing his affairs with meticulous care.

What I don’t love is feeling spread too thin. I’m still a perfectionist at heart and I hate that I don’t have enough time to give 110% to everything I do. I don’t spend enough time on my lesson plans. I don’t spend enough time with my family. I’ve been a crappy friend. I’ve canceled on weekend trips at the last minute, turned down invitations to happy hours, and feel too exhausted to be social after being “on” all day at work. I’m tired.

And I’m tired of being tired. After a lot of consideration, I’ve decided to reduce my hours with FCPS next year. At first, this decision was wrought with complex emotions of shame and self-doubt. “I should have planned better,” I thought. “I’m not good enough. I should be able to fit it all in. What’s wrong with me?”

Gradually, however, the negative self-talk gave way to excitement and possibility. Yes, my paycheck will be smaller. But when it comes to budgeting, we’ve already established that I’ve mastered the Excel spreadsheet. The positive side to this tradeoff is that I’ll have more time for the people in my life. 

I’m putting more quality time with friends and family on my “to do” list. I think Dad would approve.