Death is weird.
One minute you’re painstakingly slaving over the perfect Facebook status update, worrying about the new wrinkle in your forehead, and crying hysterically over the fact that you spilled a drop of creamer on the counter and WHY! CAN’T! ANYTHING! BE! EASY!, and the next, well, you don’t even have the privilege of popping a zit.
Maybe you got creamed by a getaway car. Maybe you found out you’ve got life-threatening lupus. Maybe you accidentally tripped over the neighbor’s lawn ornament and smacked your head on the cement. Or maybe life does that thing that it does and mysteriously ends, and you just don’t wake up one day.
In any event, I think about these things. Just yesterday, I had a two hour long estate planning meeting with this guy who I absolutely adore and wrote copy for once upon a time. We talked about stuff like:
What happens to my company—does it live on or do I want to shut it down?
What about the blog? Does it self-destruct?
Is anyone financial dependent on me?
What happens to them?
Is there someone who can pay the bills if I’m put in a coma from a freak wine tasting accident?
Who is that person?
Do they have access to my social media accounts?
Where does the company’s money go?
Where does my personal savings go?
Will anyone know that these accounts even exist?
Do I owe anything?
Do I want the plug pulled?
What will my living will instruct?
I might have made a joke that if I’m ever in a coma, my living will is going to dictate that someone come read me my Twitter feed all day long so I can at least stay in the loop. You know. Stay positive.
I also batted the idea around of putting every single one of my email subscribers in my will. You know, send everybody $5 or something. One last martini on me, bitches. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?
Mostly, I just want my last will & testament to be a good read, you know? Sort of like our terms & conditions. It is, after all, the very last thing you’ll ever say to the world. You don’t want to leave the balding clerk downtown in charge of that kind of thing. You don’t.
Given my recent research around various types of digital death duties, I thought it might be useful to share some of the tools I’ve discovered along the way. This is the year 2014, after all. There are tools for these kinds of things. Calorie-free cocktails might not exist, but apps to help you manage your life after you’re dead? Totally.
Upload your last tweet, give your VIP (very important person) a code. When they email the company with THE CODE, the company knows you’re dead. And they go ahead and send out your social media status updates for you. My recommendation? Tell the person to notify the company with the code a year after you die. You know, just to mess with people.
Great name, huh? This company lets you create an “info care package” to be shared with loved ones once your chicken has flew the coop. Give your blessing. Tell a secret. Leave instructions. Plan for the inevitable. Another player in this space? AfterNote.
Like a digital safety box with sharing capabilities, you can record info on all of your accounts, your policies, your passwords, plans and contact information. (Not your contact information, of course. We know where you’ll be.) Another player? Knotify.
It’s an app that acts like a personal journal & photo diary, that you can choose to share with the world at a future date. In other words, it’s for when you wanted to share your innermost thoughts, but didn’t want to stick around to hear people’s opinions of them.
“When your heart stops beating, you’ll keep tweeting.” Well, isn’t that a clever tagline?
Control freaks of the world? You’re welcome. Now you can manage every single thing from the grave.
And for the rest of us, well, I suppose we can rest assured knowing that, at the very least, there’s a chance the app might malfunction and send all your nudie photos to your mother-in-law.
It’s the small things in life, really.
And, apparently, in death.