I signed my will today.

It was the final act of an hour-long meeting with my lawyer that began with a review of the language for the by-laws of the Walking with Jane Foundation and a couple of additions to the purposes of the organization. In a few days the paperwork for that next step in our campaign against NETs and Carcinoid Syndrome will be ready for submission to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Then it is simply a matter of waiting for the official notice that will signify the birth of a new entity.

Part of me thinks it is fitting that on the same day we begin the final steps to bring the foundation to life, I took the final steps that will dispose of my material possessions after my death. Somehow I feel those things really are no longer entirely mine–that I am merely holding them in trust for those who come after me. I have always felt that way, but never so clearly as I do tonight.

I have always known that this body would, despite my best efforts, die. Jane’s death reminded me of that in ways that were anything but subtle. But signing that document just before noon today underlined that sense of mortality in a new and very different way–one in which there is a strange sense of peace that I have not experienced before.

Jane and I were never materially wealthy. We have a house. We saved some money for our retirement. We earned our pensions. Eventually, I have enough quarters that I may get a pittance out of social security. But I am still clipping coupons and looking for sales. My car is over a dozen years old and I am hoping to get another three or four years out of it. I worry about inflation. I worry about the economy. I am not Warren Buffet or even Mitt Romney–neither of whom will ever have to worry about what will happen if they get sick. And I have seen just how expensive a serious illness can be.

But we were wealthy in ways Bill Gates will never comprehend. We had no children of the body, but our children of the mind are everywhere. They build bridges and houses and buildings of every shape, size and description. They are surgeons, oncologists, and primary care physicians. They staff hospitals and schools and police and fire departments. They drive ambulances and trucks and fly planes. They are mothers and fathers–husbands and wives. They are cooks and waiters and waitresses. They do every job you can imagine–and likely a few you cannot.

We did not make much money in our lifetimes–but we made a difference in the lives of every student who came through our doors. And those students are making a difference in the lives of others who will make a difference in the lives of still others and others.

In those terms, we were–and are–wealthy beyond imagination.

Go thou and do likewise.