Written over three evenings · Kept current
Maya —
Don’t try to hold everything at once. There are only two calls that matter today. Call my sister Elise first — she knows this page exists, and she knows what I wanted. Then Martin next door . He has a key, he has a ladder, and he has never once been too busy.
The house will keep. The spare key lives under the ceramic dish by the back steps, where it has always lived. The alarm, the water shutoff, which breaker trips when the kettle and the toaster run together — all of it is written down, one line each, nothing clever.
Money is more boring than anyone tells you, which is a mercy. The mortgage pays itself from the checking account on the 3rd. The accounts are listed by name and last four — enough for you to prove what exists, never enough for a stranger to use.
When someone official asks you for paper — and they will, more than once — the blue folder is in the lower desk drawer . The will, the deed, the titles, in the order people ask for them. The originals are in the fire safe, and the key is taped behind the picture of the lake.
My phone passcode isn’t on this page, and it isn’t anywhere you could lose it. It’s in a sealed envelope with your name on it — you’ll be able to open it when it matters, and not before. The same is true for my email, and for the password manager that opens everything else.
Some of the bills deserve to keep going, and most don’t. Keep the internet; the cameras ride on it . The storage unit is month-to-month — let it go, it’s mostly skis. I left a quiet opinion next to each one: keep, autopay, cancel.
Tuesday is the early pickup, 3:15 , and the gate list already has your name. Dr. Osei has every record worth having. The sitter has a key and a standing invitation — you don’t have to arrange anything, only accept it.
None of this is what I actually want to say to you. Lists were never the point; they’re what love looks like when it’s trying to be useful. The rest is on the last page , and it isn’t practical at all.
