AFTER WATCHING MY wife bake a loaf of wheat bread, I thought I’d try making my mother’s cornbread. Luckily, I kept her recipe, along with those for some of her other delicious dishes.
My mother’s recipes can bring back cherished memories—like the time I visited my parents when they still had their dog. Brandy would always greet me when I walked in the front door. She’d jump up and down knowing I would give her a treat.

WE RECEIVED A PHOTO Christmas card from a guy I used to work with. The picture was taken at his daughter’s wedding, with my old colleague standing next to his wife, son and daughter-in-law. Picture perfect.
The only problem: His story isn’t picture perfect. When he and I first met, we worked in the same division at an insurance company. Right before the division was closed down, I transferred to a different department. Eventually,

FOUR MONTHS AGO, I was told I might have just a year to live. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.
I’ve been inundated with messages from acquaintances and readers, gone to countless medical appointments, my diagnosis has received a surprising amount of media attention, I’ve been hustling to organize my financial affairs, and Elaine and I have taken two trips.
Where do things stand today? Here’s what’s been going on.
Medical update. After three radiation treatments to zap the 10 cancerous lesions on my brain and an intense opening round of infusion sessions,

WE’VE ALL HEARD of the obscure relative—often a long-forgotten uncle or aunt—who leaves behind a surprise inheritance. This usually only happens in fairy tales, trashy novels and screwball comedy movies. I certainly never expected it to happen to me, especially at this late stage. But happen it did—from my lifelong friend Katie, who bequeathed me a generous sum.
I learned I was a beneficiary from the will’s executor and from a subsequent letter from the attorney handling the estate.

MY FIRST REACTION ON hearing my cancer diagnosis: I’m okay with this. My reaction a few hours later: I’m being self-centered.
My time is short, though how short remains an open question. Still, my truncated life expectancy makes something of a mockery of my pre-diagnosis comments about how we should view retirement not as the finish line, but rather as the beginning of a journey that might last two or three decades and perhaps account for almost half of our adult life.

FIRST WAS THE VOICE of my father’s friend. Then a policeman came on the line. While riding his bicycle, my 75-year-old father had been struck and killed by a speeding driver.
That was 2009. There were no goodbyes. Instead, seared into my memory are the photograph I was shown at the hospital, so I could identify my father’s body, and the details in his final medical report, which I never should have read.
My death will be far different.

WHEN I REACHED AGE 70, I felt a sense of accomplishment, a bit of weird pride. At 75, I had a similar feeling. But when I turned 80 last year, things felt different. It was like I was an overachiever. Suddenly, the future wasn’t as long.

For many years, I’d searched for a high school friend who’d been my navigator at sports car rallies, but with no luck. Then, recently, I stumbled across his obituary.

TODAY’S FINANCIAL lesson: We can manage risk—but terrible stuff can still happen. This thought, of course, was prompted by my recent cancer diagnosis. But the notion is also all too relevant to money management.
But let’s start with health matters. In 1995, I began training for my first marathon, which I ran in May 1996 in Pittsburgh and finished in just under three hours. Ever since, I’ve been a bit of an exercise nut.

ON SUNDAY MORNING, May 19, I was enjoying croissants and coffee with Elaine at the kitchen table, while watching the neighborhood sparrows, finches, cardinals and squirrels have their way with the bird feeder. All was right in our little world, except I was a little wobbly when walking—the result, I suspected, of balance issues caused by an ear infection.
It was going to be a busy week, and I figured that it would be smart to get some antibiotics inside me,

“YOU’LL STILL HAVE a retirement. It just won’t be the one you planned on.”
I’ve had to share this sobering assessment with many patients who were hoping to be rewarded for a lifetime of hard work and responsible saving, only to have those hopes dashed by an unforeseen health crisis. The culprit may be an external event like a disabling car accident or crippling fall, or an internal one like stage-four cancer or early onset dementia.

THERE SEEM TO BE four subjects that folks are reluctant to discuss with acquaintances, friends, intimates and often themselves: money, sex, religion and death. A few months ago, I broached the subject of money, to wit, my investment history—territory well-trod by this readership.

I will now turn to the literal and figurative last item in the above lineup of forbidden subjects: death. As a physician, I have some knowledge about the death of others.

“I CAN’T GET DIVORCED.”
“But Randy, I thought you guys were moving toward one.”
“I mean, I can’t afford to. I just went to see my accountant and a lawyer.”
“And?”
“Remember, California is a community property state. Even though I made almost all our money, Sarah’s entitled to half of it. I know she was dedicated to raising Harris all those years, but wow, Steve, I’m cooked.”
“But you were such a sought-after internist.

IN 1954, THE SPANIELS sang, “Goodnight, sweetheart, well, it’s time to go.”
It may not be time for me to go, but it is time to hand over the keys to our rental properties to my wife, Alberta. Since 1983, I’ve had primary oversight over our family’s residential real estate. At age 79, I’m dogged by heart disease and cancer, and weary of scrimmaging with delinquent renters and dishonorable service people. After assisting me and grooming for the role,

AS I WATCH MY daughter gleefully play with her toes and stare in wonder as she turns the pages of a new book, I’ve never felt more fulfilled. The day she entered the world, I knew I’d finally found my true purpose.
I’ve always believed that money buys us choices, and I wanted a lot of choices and flexibility once I became a mom. My daughter, who is my firstborn, arrived eight months ago,

THE SECOND HALF of life isn’t just a continuation of the first. Rather, it’s an opportunity for transformation, new adventures and deepening wisdom. As we navigate these years, understanding the five key stages of this journey can help us live more joyfully and meaningfully. What five stages? Here’s a look at each:
Phase 1: Pre-Rapture. This stage, typically between ages 45 and 60, is marked by a feeling of newfound freedom and independence.