Chapter 1: Life Lessons from Bridge

When I was around 13 years old, my parents introduced me to the card game Bridge. This game is filled with rules, one of the most important being that you must follow suit. If you don’t have cards in the lead suit, you can trump it, but otherwise, you’re expected to comply.

Last year, a cousin on my father's side passed away unexpectedly, leaving no will, trust, or any arrangements to ease the burden on his family. Robby had neither a spouse nor children, which meant his older sister and younger brother had to rush from the East Coast to manage his estate, finances, and belongings. They needed a lawyer—one they quickly found in Berkeley. I'm uncertain if they managed to avoid probate, but they did get everything sorted out in the end.

This situation made me reflect: what would happen if I were to die suddenly? As a single person without children, it would likely fall to my sister to handle my affairs, including sorting through the numerous items I've accumulated over 27 years in a spacious apartment. Is that fair to her, even if I intend to leave her my investment savings and those of her daughters?

Hold on a second—while that is my intention, it’s not documented anywhere. I don’t even have a note tucked away in my strong box, let alone a formal will or trust.

What about verbal agreements? I suppose my word is only as good as the paper it’s written on.

Despite my encouragement, my roommate also hasn’t organized her paperwork. Given that she is ten years older than me and facing health issues, this feels increasingly urgent to me. A dear friend has pointed out that I can't complain too much since I’m also lacking in this area. She suggests I lead by positive example, and once I finalize my will, I’ll be better positioned to ask her where her life insurance policy is kept.

Currently, she doesn’t have a strong box to store her documents, while I do. Mine is a stylish soft-cover case resembling a small suitcase, featuring various pockets and compartments, including an accordion file—all for just $30. Metal boxes are typically pricier.

At least I’ve started organizing my essential documents, such as my will questionnaire and durable powers of attorney (POA) for both financial and healthcare matters. However, there's one significant issue—they're still not completed or notarized.

My roommate and I attended a class at Kaiser Permanente about how and why to fill out their advance directive forms, which don't require additional signatures. Yet, we still haven't taken that step. Regarding the POAs, I'm hesitant to ask friends or family for help, so I’ve yet to approach anyone.

Interestingly, two friends have already offered to assist—one for healthcare decisions and another for financial matters. However, it’s been some time since then, and one of them has since moved out of state.

Shouldn't I prioritize asking family members first? Perhaps it’s time to have that critical conversation.

When I catch myself thinking, "I don’t want to be a burden," I need to remind myself that fail