When you open my will
There are clients who, as the years go by, stop being simply clients. They become people you have known for a lifetime, family friends, familiar faces that have become part of your own memories. Maria was one of them.
She was almost ninety, remarkably clear-minded, with that lively look in her eyes that belongs to people who have always been used to thinking for themselves, right to the very end. On that occasion, she did not come to my office. I went to her home to take instructions for her will.
We spoke at length about her family, her grandchildren, the people she cared about and how she wanted her estate to be divided. At one point, she began listing the various cash legacies she wished to leave to her grandchildren. She calculated each amount with great care.
As she added one sum after another, she suddenly stopped and, looking genuinely concerned, said to me:
“But, Notary... if I keep leaving all these amounts, there might not be any money left for me.”
I looked at her. For a few seconds, I said nothing. Then, smiling and as gently as I could, I replied:
“Mrs Maria... by the time your will is opened, you will no longer be here.”
She stared at me. For a moment, she remained completely still. Then she burst out laughing.
It was a spontaneous, infectious laugh, the kind that fills an entire room.
“You’re right, Notary... I really hadn’t thought of that!”
We both started laughing. In that moment, all formality disappeared. There were simply two people sharing a smile in the face of a truth that is both inevitable and, sometimes, surprisingly easy to forget.
I often think back to that episode. A will is perhaps one of the most delicate instruments a Notary can be called upon to receive. Inevitably, it means speaking about the end of life, yet it is done while thinking about those who will remain: children, grandchildren, and the people one loves most.
And yet, even in moments as profound as these, there can still be room for a smile. Maria’s is one I have never forgotten.
Perhaps because it reminded me that behind every will, before there is ever an estate, there is first and foremost a person. And the greatest privilege of my profession is precisely this: to accompany that person with respect, with humanity and, when life allows it, with a smile.
