Why I've Decided to Rethink My Sons' Inheritance

My biggest financial decision came not from a spreadsheet, but from a book. For decades, I operated under a clear mission: accumulate as much wealth as possible to pass down to my children. It felt responsible, loving even. But I’ve recently decided to abandon that plan entirely—and my family couldn’t be happier about it.

The Book That Changed Everything

I stumbled upon Die with Zero by Bill Perkins expecting another dry retirement manual. Instead, I found a provocative thesis: the goal shouldn’t be to die rich, but to spend your life’s earnings intentionally before you go. The author’s central insight reframed how I think about money altogether.

Money, Perkins argues, isn’t a scorecard to maximize. It’s a vehicle for creating experiences. More importantly, he introduces the concept of “memory dividends”—the idea that meaningful moments repay you in lasting memories worth far more than any bank balance ever could.

When I initially read the thesis, I’ll admit—it struck me as reckless. How could I possibly justify spending down our retirement account instead of preserving it for my children? But then I started asking myself harder questions.

When Assumptions Collide with Reality

My husband and I scraped by as young adults. We worked through college, lived paycheck to paycheck, and like roughly 42% of Americans, we had no emergency cushion. A flat tire felt catastrophic. A flooded basement seemed like financial ruin.

That scarcity mindset shaped everything. For years, I equated accumulating wealth with expressing love to my children. If we left them nothing when we passed, wouldn’t that seem like we didn’t care enough about their future?

I decided to test this assumption by actually asking them.

The Conversation Nobody Expects

When I mentioned the book to my sons, their response shocked me. Both said they loved the idea of us enjoying our money instead of hoarding it for them. One pointed out the obvious: they’re educated, financially stable, and managing their own futures. They didn’t need—or want—Mom and Dad sacrificing their later years.

My daughters-in-law went further. They emphasized how important it was to them that we spend and enjoy. They’re handling their own retirement. What they wanted from us was presence and peace of mind, not posthumous checks.

That’s when I realized something crucial: the grand inheritance I’d been protecting so carefully was something I wanted to leave, not something they wanted to receive. The dream had always been mine alone.

What Inheritance Actually Means

For years, my financial calculations operated under one rule: preserve principal, live only on interest and earnings. I framed leaving money behind as a final love letter—imagine them thinking of us every time they spent that inheritance.

But I’ve since questioned that entire framework. If we’d never built retirement savings, would our children think we loved them less? If we lost everything tomorrow, would they measure our affection by our account balance?

The answer is obviously no.

The real inheritance has nothing to do with digits in a bank account. Children of any age need one thing: assurance that they’re completely loved and accepted. No amount of money communicates that message. Only our presence while we’re alive can.

I’ve decided to shift our withdrawal strategy. We’ll tap more from our retirement account than originally planned. We won’t be wealthy, but we’ll be comfortable enough to travel, create moments, and build those memory dividends Perkins described.

It feels unconventional to spend what I once believed should be protected. But intellectually and emotionally, I know this is right. The inheritance that matters isn’t what’s left in the account—it’s what we create together before we’re gone.