I’m writing this post on Monday night, just after I’ve had my last bite of food before that thrilling ritual that parents (and others) get to enjoy: fasting for a life insurance physical. Isn’t that fun?

There’s both the pleasant and the unnerving in taking out a policy on your life. First, it assumes you have someone that you care enough about—and presumably cares enough about you—to look after even when you are worm food. It also assumes the inevitability of your demise, which is obvious and inescapable, but generally a topic one avoids as much as possible.

I already have a life insurance policy with JP as the beneficiary; the one I am applying for now is for Ellie. Again, the good and the bad vie with each other: I feel fortunate to have this abundance of lovable things around me, things that I created (with help), and that I am responsible for in a way that doesn’t end with my end. But that responsibility is also a burden: no one will ever tell you that you’ve done the right thing by your children; no one will pat you on the back, or congratulate you, or do anything to let you know that you’ve done well. You’re an adult now, or at least that life insurance policy assumes that you are, and the only rewards for that are internal, which—yes, yes—is both good and bad.

And I’m thirsty.