As I write this, my 88 year old mother is doing her second stint (within three weeks) in rehab after a brief hospital stay. I’m a day from getting on a plane (second time in 3 weeks) to Florida to see her.

I’m an only child, mid-40s. The reason I’m writing this letter to you, is that I want to do you a favor. I want to give you something to think about, something that you likely don’t want to think about. And it’s likely something your child doesn’t feel comfortable bringing up when you’re spending time together. Assuming you do that sort of thing.

Here’s the favor: I want you to think about your death. I know you’re thinking, what kind of favor is that? Not to mention, who the hell are you to ask me to think about my death? Please hear me out a moment.

About four years ago my mom’s health suddenly took a turn. Nothing that was expected, nothing that was already under treatment. Mom wasn’t exactly in perfect health, but thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, whatever health conditions she had were manageable.

We were unprepared for this turn, and I was especially unprepared for the aftermath. Mom’s situation then was acute, and I had to make a lot of decisions rather quickly, decisions for which I would rather have had her input while she was coherent. Things like executing a power of attorney, healthcare proxy, will, suddenly became necessary, and I didn’t have time to process any of it, I had to just execute and move on to the next thing.

One of the things your child may face is what to do with you if you’re well enough to leave the hospital but not well enough to return home. Remember that thing you used to say to your child, something along the lines of “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”? There’s no such thing as free long term healthcare. Everything comes at a cost.

Speaking of costs, how are your finances? Have you figured out yet that you’re probably going to live a long time thanks to modern medicine? Sure, you’ll be popping pills galore and your joints will sound like the creaky stairs in a horror film, but you’ll be alive. Here’s a secret I learned: you either have to be filthy rich or dirt poor to get the services you’ll need in your elder years. The folks in the middle, the majority, your options are few and you may be reduced to destitution because your money will run out long before you thought it would. Word of advice: get a lawyer and a financial planner, now. In fact, tell your child to get these people, too.