Of course I have a carbon monoxide detector

When Ryan and I first started dating, we quickly established some basic ground rules for our relationship (including alternating days to be right and proper usage of the phrase “be nice”). This rule-making tendency continued after we were engaged, resulting in our current list of family rules. All of these rules were established as a result of a conversation—be it silly or serious—and all of them express a need or attempt to fix a problem. (Note: I do realize that several of these things are outside of my control; however, having a rule for it makes me feel better and allows me to stop worrying about it for the time being. Our family, our rules. So there.)

Family Rule #1: Nobody dies before the age of 84. Also, I get to die first, followed an instant or two later by Ryan.

Ryan’s granny has been a widow for decades—she’s spent more of her life without her husband than she did with him. She’s in her 90s right now and will, from time to time, make comments like, “I wonder why he hasn’t called me back yet. Doesn’t he miss me? Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore.” It breaks my heart. Being without a spouse for so long seems so difficult—I get teary just thinking about it. Ryan has brought so much happiness and laughter into my life, I can’t picture living it without him. We chat all day every day—email, text, and even, once in a while, in person—and a life without him seems oppressively silent. I don’t want to deal with that loss. Luckily, Ryan feels the same way about losing me; therefore, we created this family rule—giving us a long and full life together without any real knowledge of being parted.

(Note: This rule will also apply to our children, once we have them, since I strongly suspect that losing one of them would be just as heartbreaking. By being born into this family, they will be expected to follow this and all the other family rules. But this one in particular.)

So you can expect to be reading our obituaries sometime between April 25 and May 3, 2067. (Since that’s within our nine-day window of both being 84.) I’m hoping we’ll go by carbon monoxide poisoning in our sleep; however, other instantaneous, painless ways would be acceptable.

Why 84, you ask? Because 100 is too old—my back’s already breaking down and I’m only in my 20s! I can’t even imagine what’ll be sore in my 30s, let alone my 80s. However, 80 isn’t quite old enough—I’d like to stick around long enough to watch my grandkids become grand-adults. So really, living to 84 sounds just about right.

(Of course, when we get closer, we always have the option of evaluating the age and pushing our schedule back a couple of years. We’ll see how things go down the road.)