For the past 2 months I’ve been dating a nice guy. We are both 30 and it’s time I got married, clock ticking and all that stuff. Last weekend I visited this man at his house for the first time (he cooked dinner, and the usual fooling around followed).

When I got up from the bed, I switched on the light and took a good look around. The bedroom was full of pictures — photos — of people, all of them dead. His best friend who died in a car crash. His mother who died from throat cancer. His grandmother, dead. A buddy who died in Iraq, hit by a grenade. His dog, even. A Dachshund named Millie. Dead.

It was weird.

My question is, Do I continue seeing this man or not? Is he death-obsessed, in your opinion? I like him. But I really hate his idea of decoration. Especially in the bedroom.

Linda in LA

Dear Linda,

Nice men are hard to find, aren’t they? Especially those who cook. So don’t dismiss him just because you don’t like the decor.

Ask about the photos. Ask about the people who died, who are obviously important to him. Then — and only when you’ve been dating a few months longer — you might suggest that they belong in his study. You don’t have to phrase it quite that way. You might simply observe that the bedroom seems “cluttered” to you, and the photos would “make more of a statement” in his study (or his basement…or on his living room piano. Whatever.)

I think that should solve the problem.

Thanks for writing

Judy

My sister and I are 14 and 12. (I am 12). My mother’s best friend has stomach cancer. Would you say it’s weird for my mother to spend every day practically with her friend, and stop spending time with us and stop watching movies with us? Sometimes she even doesn’t cook dinner any more. She comes home late (8 pm) and just pushes some ready-made junk on the table. One time it was 3 Big Macs, Cokes and a lot of apple pies.

If you say it’s weird, which is what both my sister and I think, we’ll show your reply to our mother.

Tara

Dear Tara,

I think your mother is very unhappy about her friend’s condition. Her friend is dying and that clearly has made her distracted and forgetful about other important people in her life. Namely — you and your sister.

You don’t mention a father. Maybe your father isn’t around. If he is around, however, don’t you think it would be smart to ask him to help out? Also, both you and your sister could learn how to cook healthy, delicious dishes for yourselves. This is as good a time as ever to start. And it’s a skill you, and everyone who knows you, will value when you grow up.

Now as to your mother. Please tell her I said she must start paying more attention to you both. However much the pain of her good friend’s illness is affecting her, she can’t let that get in the way of her relationship with her children. Do show this reply to her.

Write again please, and tell me how things are going.

Judy

I’ll bet you haven’t received an email like this before. My sister, who is now 40, recently lost her husband who was more than a decade older. I guess the age gap had its effect, because around her he was always like a frisky puppy –or maybe I should say more like one of those Alaskan sled dogs, always tirelelssly working on her behalf, never taking a break.

(He died of a heart attack, his third. Big surprise, right?)

Anyway, while Mike was around, he was the one who always fixed the toaster — and made the toast. And the dinners. And called the plumber and the roofer. They had no kids, so it was amazing she couldn’t get around to accomplishing basic tasks.  He was forever panting after her with her slippers, if you see what I mean.

Now that he’s gone she’s figured out we can take his place in the unpaid worker department. Whenever my sister is at my house (or at our brother’s — and he has a whole family she can direct), it’s always, “Can you help wash my car?” Or, “Be an angel, and get me another cup of tea.” That kind of thing.

She is not handicapped. It’s been four months since Mike died. We don’t want to be cruel or rude. But we’ve had it. Can you suggest some way out of slavery?

Leslie in Des Moines

Dear Leslie,

I take your point. But have you — or your brother — ever heard of the word ‘No’? It has the advantage of being simple, direct and easily understood.

I realize you don’t want to be considered rude or insensitive in the wake of a brother-in-law’s untimely death. But as you yourself point out: it’s been four months. All you are feeling these days is resentment, and that ’s no way to maintain a relationship with a sibling.

So the next time your sister asks you to help fix her flat, point to the number of AAA, or the nearest gas station. If she feels she is unable to fix the toaster, suggest she buy a replacement. In other words, slavery has been outlawed. Now all you need to do is remember that.

You don’t need to be rude. Just state the obvious: no one can repair the sink faucet better than the plumber whose number you happen to have on hand. No one can make a better cup of tea than your sister, so she should get you a cup as well while she’s up.

I promise you, your sister will absorb the lesson pretty quickly.

Thanks for writing,

Judy

I know you don’t usually deal with bequest issues. But this is important to me. My grandmother died at 85 last month, and left everything she had to the five of us — her grandchildren. We are all adults. I’m the only guy. I get all the money, it turns out. The female grandchildren get her jewels, which are pretty nice.

Our grandmother was moderately wealthy, as you can tell from the details of this email. There are a number of brooches, very old fashioned, with rubies in the shape of dragons or flowers and a few with emeralds, and two very pretty diamond solitaires, and also some valuable earrings and pearl neckleaces (real pearls, not cultured).

I think it’s ridiculous that the money wasn’t evenly distributed to my sisters and two female cousins. I also, frankly, would like one of the knock-your-socks-off large diamond rings to give to my girlfriend, on the day I propose to her.

So — do you think we can exchange money for jewelry and vice versa? Should we? My female cousins say they are perfectly happy with the arrangement as it stands (I think their jewels are worth a lot…). My sister says she’ll go along with whatever is easiest for the family.

Tell me what you think.

Ralph in Maryland

Dear Ralph,

Here’s what I think. Your cousins have spoken. Their word should be final. Your sister, it seems to me, is also pleased with the arrangement as it stands, but would prefer not to quarrel with you over a matter of diamond rings.

What she is essentially saying, in other words, is you should leave her alone to enjoy the jewels she has rightfully inherited.

Since you got the cash — all the cash –and you appear to enjoy old jewelry, why not visit an estate sale? Or drop by your local jewelers to see what’s in the window. I’ll be these days, in times of hard economic news, you can get a very pretty diamond solitaire ring for your girlfriend at a very nice price. And now that you have the cash on hand to buy it, you can also leave your relatives in peace.

Thank you for writing,

Judy

I read your advice about a month ago to the woman who was going through a bad divorce when her husband died — and she didn’t feel like acting like a grieving widow because it was so hypocritical. I have a more difficult problem.

Four years ago, I too went through a nasty divorce from a nasty guy. Then I met the love of my life: a kind, thoughtful and intelligent man. We never married — in fact we lived in different cities, so we had to drive a considerable distance to our reunions. But we managed to see each other once a week, we vacationed together, and we were faithful and loving.

He died two months ago of pancreatic cancer. The end was very swift. But my problem is this: I don’t know how to define myself now that he’s dead. In the eyes of his close friends, maybe I’m basically his widow, because we were so close. Should I call myself a widow? That’s what I feel like, even though we never married.

But I’m really a divorcee — from a guy I can’t think of without flinching.

Marie in Sacremento

Dear Marie,

I am very sorry your dear friend has died. But right now I think that’s your only true problem: the feeling of loss.

How you refer to this man is up to you. But if I were in your shoes, I’d simply tell the truth: he was the love of your life. And he died. You don’t have to give any more details to anyone. You certainly don’t have to call yourself a divorcee — in fact I think that’s a pretty old-fashioned term.

So if someone asks, just stick to the hard facts. They speak volumes. And they are quite enough.

Thank you for writing

Judy

Our father, who is slowly fading (lung cancer, Stage IV) has left written instructions for his tombstone. For everything, in fact. But it’s the tombstone details that really made me drop my jaw.

Everything he spelled out for the slab of granite in his future is a total lie: “Loving Husband” and “Loving Father” are just the start. He also titles himself “Colonel Smith” (he was no colonel); he has even actually deducted a few years from his lifespan as it now stands.

I don’t especially feel like arguing with him, especially now in his condition (anyway, we’ve done enough of that over the years, as you can probably gather). But I also don’t think that when the time comes, we should order the engraving as it now stands.

Our mother isn’t taking any stand on this (as usual. Stands aren’t exactly her forte). My sisters tell me not to sweat the small stuff. But I have kids for whom I’d like to set an example. And I don’t lie. What to do?

Ellie in Toronto

Dear Ellie,

At the moment, I’m with your sisters. Don’t sweat the small stuff. As your mother has no objections, when the time comes for a tombstone to be engraved, feel free to delete the fictional military rank and to alter your father’s age so that it’s in accordance with reality.

  As for the “loving father” and “loving husband” issue — my own thoughts on that are pretty traditional. By which I mean, no one takes epitaphs too literally. We all allow the dead a little poetic license (we’re hoping our descendents will do as much for us).

 If every person in the obit columns were as “loving” as described, this world would be awash with affection, peace, and deliriously happy families. Readers of tombstones know that those sorts of lies — the “loving” lies, let’s call them — are just the living’s way of being polite to those who are no longer in a position to explain away their transgressions.

Thank you for writing

Judy

My 50-year-old husband was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer and has started treatment. Depending on how he responds, he can live from 5-15 years. The brakes have been put on us financially. Meaning my husband is trying to prevent me from buying a big house — and selling the condo I bought years ago.

I’m a bit frustrated. I want very badly to move out of the condo. I know my husband is concerned about our financial future — he’s worried I won’t be able to pay off the mortgage on whatever house we end up buying — and besides, he’s obviously not feeling well. But he has substantial life insurance, and I have a good job.

Any suggestions for me? I really want to move forward with our plans, and I want him not to worry. I have a great-aunt who will be leaving me a substantial inheritance, and she is very old. So if my husband stays relatively okay for a while, we should both be okay. I’m going completely crazy in our small condo, and desperately want a bigger place to live.

Any suggestions?

Mary in Virginia

Dear Mary,

I know you’re not going to like what I’m about to suggest since you really seem to want to move out of your condo — now. But I’m going to ask you, just for a minute, to take a step back from your own desire and think of your husband. Very likely the treatment he’ll receive for prostate cancer will leave him very tired and weak.

In other words there is no “relatively okay” condition for your husband.

What this means is that the strenuous ordeal of packing, deciding which possessions each — or both — of you wants to keep or throw out, and moving will probably be more than he can bear.

So cut him a break. For that matter, cut yourself a break.  I think you want to move out quickly for many reasons. Perhaps part of you wants to flee a certain amount of heartbreak and panic, which I know you must be feeling. Maybe you think moving right away from a condo will be the same thing as moving away from trouble and grief. Maybe you think a big home will do the trick, and pull your husband out of fear and worry.

But it won’t.

My advice? Stay put for the next few years. Whatever your future inheritance from the old aunt — it’s not in your pocket now. And as you’ve seen from the series of recent economic disasters that have rocked this country, anything can happen to even large amounts of money.

And I think you’ll be helping your sick husband in many ways by giving him a stable existence in the condo he knows and loves.

Thank you for writing

Judy

My grandfather had Huntington’s Chorea for 15 horrible years and died of it. His son, my father, never got the disease (he died of a heart attack when he was 38). I am dating a young woman — she’s 27 — and things are getting serious between us.  She’s talked marriage and children. I haven’t.

I think she wonders why I change the subject whenever weddings or kids come up, and maybe she thinks I don’t care for her as much as she likes me. That’s not really true. I think we may have some issues (she is really sloppy, her house is full of dust and her sink is usually piled with dirty dishes, and her bed is always a mess. Also she loves cats, of which she has two, but isn’t really hygenic about their kitty litter, if you know what I mean). But the real issue is my genetic background. I haven’t told her about it.

Should I? Should I get tested? Part of me, the bigger part, has never wanted to know, because you and I know the disease leads to uncontrollable movements, dementia and is fatal. And incurable. Part of me thinks it’s irresponsible not to get tested.

Tell me what to do. And what to say to my girlfriend.

Tad

Dear Tad,

I cannot tell you to get tested for Huntington’s Chorea because that is a very personal decision. And I’m so very sorry that it’s yours to make: it’s a frightening dilemma, I realize. Also — and I’m not saying this to terrify you even more, but because it’s important: You do not know for certain your father didn’t have Huntington’s Chorea. The symptoms usually appear after the age of 35. Sometimes years after 35. His fatal heart attack cut short any possibility of discovery.

But I can tell you that you can’t consider having children — biological children — unless you do get tested. As you know, if one gene for the disease is inherited, that person will develop Huntington’s. And if this young woman is truly the one you wish to marry, yes, you must a) tell her about your genetic background and b) get tested. Or don’t get tested, but adopt.

However — and this is a big however — from what you write about your girlfriend, it doesn’t seem to me you are yet at the point where a marriage proposal is necessarily in order. In the first place, you don’t seem all that crazy about her or her drawbacks. In the second, you strongly imply that she may be rushing you into marriage.

So take your time. Think things over. You may eventually decide that, your feelings for this young woman aside, genetic testing is something you want to do.  If only to plan your future as well as the future of whomever you decide to marry.

Thank you for writing,

Judy

I’ve been following your column ever since my husband died 6 weeks ago and a friend recommended it, but you never seem to deal with the real taboo subject. I mean money.

You act like the only problem associated with death or dying were emotional, medical, or psychological. Well they aren’t! When my husband died I was left with very little. He was recently laid off his job and I’m sure that contributed to the stroke that killed him. He was smoking and drinking again. He’d stopped paying his insurance premium, so life insurance vanished.

And guess who’s stuck with the bills?

My friends or so-called friends keep saying things like, “I’m sure Bill left you comfortable,” and I want to belt them. I have a job but I also have a kid who’s 16. He works too, after school, bagging groceries, but how far is that supposed to go?

Should I mention I need financial help to my friends when they tell me how “comfortable” I must be? Is that their idea of an opening? I could use the extra cash, especially after the funeral costs which were heavy.

Jill

Dear Jill,

The only time you can really tap a friend for money is if you’re really strapped. By which I mean near bankruptcy, or the mortgage is 2 months late.

My guess is, in these hard economic times, your friends are also hurting financially. If you are really stuck and you happen to know someone who has money, then by all means mention it. Otherwise — and this is just an educated guess — I’m assuming that when your friends suggest you might be “comfortable” what they’re really saying is they hope you are. That’s it.

And one final thought, even though I realize it’s arriving a bit late for you: funerals don’t have to be a call for bankruptcy. There is no need for a lavish send-off for a guest of honor who cannot possibly appreciate it. I wish people would save their money and spend it on something far more vital: the living.

Thank you for writing

Judy

According to Shneidman, there are 10 criteria for dying well. Dying well might seem an impossibility to some. (As he drily notes at the beginning of his article, “By almost universal common consent death has a bad reputation”). But Shneidman disagrees. Some deaths are better than others, he says flatly.

Some of the criteria he chose were pretty obvious: it’s better to die old (over 70, is how he defined that adjective) than young; better to die “naturally” than to commit suicide; better to die peaceably, by which he meant with as little pain and as much love as possible.

But some of what Shneidman suggested was really novel — a fascinating addition to elements I at least would like to contemplate when the time comes. He notes that Honorable is an essential component: meaning your survivors will have good memories of you. Accepted, he adds, is also importing: meaning the smart person will accept a fate he cannot change.

 And he also mentions Generative — meaning the critically ill person can take comfort from the fact that he has passed down ”the wisdom of the tribe to younger generations.” The dying person has accomplished this, Shneidman points out, by writing, or by sharing stories and histories with members of his family, or by acting like “a beneficent sage.” 

I don’t know how many of us would qualify for the “beneficent sage” role. But I do know that I plan to incorporate a lot of what he mentions in my own life. It’s never too early to start.