Lessons from my brother post mortem.(THE LAST LAUGH)(Column)

I was truly touched by the number of cards, letters and emails arriving after the "My Brother's Keeper" musings in the July's issue. Especially the lovely cards--a wide-ranging assortment from subscribers, friends and colleagues. I didn't know so many people still sent sympathy cards.

Having gotten through the immediate minutiae like the coroner's report, obituaries, memorial service and cremation, the scene now shifts to the disposition of his worldly goods. I'm fortunate to live 2,000 miles away from the land of fruits and nuts.

So sudden a departure can't help but have ripple effects on the many whose lives he touched in a variety of ways. Although it's hard to believe that he won't be around to lease anymore, my big brother is still having an effect. Let me share with you just a few lessons he's already unknowingly conveyed.

Lessons about my stuff

Imagine what it would be like to suddenly just disappear, leaving behind the physical aspects of your existence: clothes on the line, full refrigerator and piles of mail. Others will invade your space, intent on disrupting and dismantling the nest that you'd been feathering for years to meet your exact needs.

A corollary of that notion is that whoever walks into my house--should I get hit by the proverbial chocolate milk truck--is going to have a good laugh, then a good cry and finally a good time with my stuff. And my four cats will provide unlimited support.

Guess it's time to review my will, if I can find it. Seems like it's been about 10 years and I'm no longer sure of the provisions. But then I'll have to consider my legacy, whether to reward need or achievement or hope. And that takes a lot of self-reflection, so the appointment with the lawyer won't be made anytime soon.