Director's Notes – Episode 97

(NOTE: As always, Director's Notes contain spoilers)

I inherited some money many years back from my grandmother, Elnora Rey. It wasn't a lot of money. There was no estate or property to divvy up. But thankfully there were no debts either. She lived alone in an apartment, my mother and uncle (her children) nearby. She was happy to the end, the most loving woman I knew. She also had her affairs in order, so burial and services had been pre-arranged. She still had some savings left and that money was split among the many grandchildren. 

This happened a few months before my wife and I bought our first home, and the check we got following my grandmother's passing was immediately put into the down payment toward our mortgage. It was a big help to us, and I still love that a part of Elnora lives with us in our 500 sq ft Brooklyn co-op.

Decades before she passed, Elnora and her husband (my grandfather) Louis Nettleship prepared their plans for passing. This money goes here. These debts resolved by this time. These belongings given here. The home, if not sold, goes to this person, etc. 

In fictional stories, inheritance is often at the King Lear level: super intense, mostly tragic battles between heirs over vast amounts of money and/or land and/or businesses. But mostly, inheritance is a messy bureaucratic (and expensive) affair drawn out between parents, children, accountants, and lawyers, long before death even enters the picture. 

There are arguments over who gets the house, but often it's not "I want that house." It's "I don't want to deal with that house." There are arguments over money, too, but many times it's about assuming outstanding loans, not how many commas are in the checks the heirs get. The best you can hope for is a family that keeps you informed as to what their plans are well ahead of time.

As I've hit 40, I'm having more conversations with my own parents and parents-in-law about what will happen when they die. The obvious answer is that I will sob and get insomnia for weeks and stare for long stretches of time at walls and trees and people and floors and skies. 

But I think what they mean is that they're writing everything up with a lawyer so that the kids won't have to worry about selling property or managing a business. And that if any debts are still outstanding, they will not surprise us. (I am skeptical that it will be so easy.)

Existential literature, religious teachings, and biology classes only really prepare you for the pain of death, the grief in loss, the fear of what is beyond. They don't teach you how to handle passed-down debts, sell a house in a city you don't live in, or even try to re-kindle relationships with siblings and cousins you have either lost touch with or generally don't speak to any more. 

And all of that is to say that I feel for Josefina Ortiz, her daughter Alondra, and the angels Erika. I find their stories compelling and frustrating. For all of Night Vale's weirdness as a town or fictional universe, it's still a realistic place, full of realistic things like love, romance, friendship, anxiety, fear, disease, and in the case of Josefina and Alondra, a complex mix of family and bureaucracy. 

Joseph and I love exploring the gray areas: romance is exciting and tedious, skepticism is an important part of community pride, heroes can make us uncomfortable, and you can stare at the void until our eyes float away, you're not done till you fill out these forms.

- Jeffrey Cranor
November 1, 2016