In one of George Eliot’s novels, or maybe Charlotte Brontë’s, a young woman disappointed in love wishes she were permitted to work. Yeah, yeah, of course there were many young women not of her class who devoutly wished to be permitted NOT to work. But to my point: someone else says to her that work isn’t a panacea for all of life’s ills. And she says, as I recall:
“ But it can provide a multitude of pains, and prevent one from breaking one’s heart on ONE great sorrow.”
That’s what being an executor is like. My grief is fragmented into tiny daily duties and tasks and annoyances and petty irritations, almost to the point where I forget WHY I have to do all this , my “one great sorrow”.
You become the decedent’s secretary and the servant of the legatees and devisees.
I’m glad it’s me. No one could do it better.
But I resent the interference with grief.
3 Likes
I am the executor of my Grandmamma’s estate. I know what you are talking about. And you would be an executrix.
1 Like
“Executrix”? Not in Pa; that went out with “workMAN’s compensation” and any other such terms. Altho you might hear some older lawyers getting up to their old trix….
1 Like
You have got to be effing kidding me? Well, you can look at me as an old lawyer then because the “trix” is an awesome moniker. Does PA’s change also effect “dominatrix”? Or did they leave that one alone?