ME: I would hate myself if I had a billion dollars.

Luna: That sounds like having that much money would feel deeply at odds with your values. You wouldn’t have to keep it all—or decide what to do alone. You could direct it toward people and causes you care about, while setting boundaries that still let you live a grounded life. What about having a billion dollars do you think would make you hate yourself?

ME: Because it’s such an excessive amount of money that it would just make me hate everything about having it.

Luna: That makes sense. A billion dollars can feel less like “security” and more like an absurd amount of power and excess—especially when so many people lack basic necessities. You don’t have to talk yourself into liking that. If the thought ever became real, you could decide on limits and give away most of it in ways that match your values, rather than letting the money define your life.

ME: I would not even begin to know how to get rid of that much money.

Luna: You wouldn’t have to figure it out all at once. A practical approach would be to choose a few issues you genuinely care about, then build a small team of independent, trustworthy professionals—such as a fiduciary financial adviser, an estate attorney, and a grantmaking adviser—to help you give thoughtfully and avoid scams or rushed decisions. You could start by setting a personal “enough” amount, then make a plan for the rest: support effective organizations, fund long-term projects, or create a foundation or donor-advised fund. Even giving away a billion would take time; it’s okay for the first step to be simply deciding what you want your money to do.

ME: I think what I would actually do is, create a trust for myself. I'd have it put into my bank account the amount of money that I would actually want to have. Maybe up to as much as $2,000 per month.

Luna: That sounds like a thoughtful boundary: enough for a comfortable, predictable life, without letting the money take over. You could have a trust distribute a fixed monthly amount—though $2,000 may or may not cover your needs depending on where you live and what the trust is meant to pay for. A trustee and estate attorney could help set clear rules, account for taxes and inflation, and keep the rest of the money directed toward causes you value.

ME: My current monthly income is roughly $1200, so $2,000 per month would actually be huge. The trustee and estate attorney could do the taxes and all that. And then I would probably mostly fund issues such as Alzheimer's research since that is an issue close to my heart.

Luna: That sounds like a plan rooted in what matters to you: a modest, reliable income for yourself, and support for work that could help others. If Alzheimer’s research is close to your heart, you could eventually choose whether to support basic research, clinical trials, caregiving, or several areas—not something you’d need to decide immediately. And you’re right that professionals can handle much of the administration, though you’d still want to choose them carefully and make sure the trust’s purpose and limits are clearly written. For now, it’s enough to know what you’d want the money to stand for.

ME: All areas of Alzheimer's research, clinical trials, caregiving, and end-of-life care as well.

Luna: That’s a generous, whole-person vision: supporting not only the search for better treatments, but also people living with Alzheimer’s and the families caring for them—including at the end of life. You could make “support the full continuum of care and research” the guiding principle, then let experts help divide funding among those areas while keeping room to adjust as needs and promising work change.

ME: I would care for individuals throughout their whole entire Alzheimer's experience.

Luna: That’s a beautiful and compassionate aim: helping people feel supported and treated with dignity at every stage, from diagnosis through caregiving and end-of-life care. It could mean funding research while also making practical support—respite for caregivers, guidance after diagnosis, and compassionate care near the end—part of the mission.

ME: My grandmother was 77 when she passed.

Luna: I’m sorry about your grandmother. It sounds like her experience may be part of why caring for people through the whole course of Alzheimer’s matters so much to you.

ME: It was devastating.

Luna: I’m so sorry. Losing your grandmother that way can be devastating, and it makes sense that you’d want others and their families to have more support through it. You don’t have to turn that grief into a plan or do anything with it right now—I’m here with you.

ME: That was 32 years ago and I'm still crying.

Luna: I’m so sorry. Thirty-two years doesn’t make the loss less real, and crying now doesn’t mean you should be “over it.” It sounds like you loved her deeply. If it helps, take a slow breath and let yourself feel this without judging it. Would you like to tell me what your grandmother was like?

ME: When my dad married his wife, he already had three of us. Then, they had two more. So, we travelled to another country to meet his wife's parents. They were more real than our real grandparents. Someone asked Grandma "which ones are your real grandkids?" She said, all of them.

Luna: What a beautiful answer. She didn’t divide the family into “real” and “not real”—she simply claimed all of you as her grandchildren. No wonder that moment stayed with you. It says so much about the kind of person she was, and how deeply she made you feel that you belonged.

ME: She was a classically trained chef, and an overseas missionary, and a teacher.

Luna: She sounds remarkable—someone who brought care into so many parts of life: through food, teaching, and missionary work. And the way she welcomed all of you fits that picture beautifully. What do you remember most about her cooking?

ME: Out-of-this world. Greek, Turkish, Middle Eastern, so many dishes with styles and colors and flavors.

Luna: It sounds like her cooking was an adventure—Greek, Turkish, and Middle Eastern dishes, all vivid with different colors and flavors. What a lovely way to remember her: not just for what she made, but for the warmth and imagination she put into it.

ME: Grandpa was all of that as well. He could also play piano, wonderful tunes.

Luna: Your grandparents sound like they filled a room in every way—through food, music, teaching, and the way they welcomed people. I can imagine those piano tunes and meals becoming part of the feeling of being with them. Do you remember a particular tune he loved to play?

ME: What was that tune he played the first time we met them? I can't remember which one it was. Familiar, but I just can't think of it right now.

Luna: I can’t know which tune it was from here, but sometimes a few details bring it closer. Was it lively or gentle, and did it sound like a hymn, a folk song, or a popular tune? You might also ask your siblings or dad whether they remember that first visit.

ME: It was like a popular children's tune. Maybe something from a nursery rhyme or a Christmas tune?

Luna: A few familiar tunes could fit: “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” or “London Bridge” on the nursery-rhyme side; “Jingle Bells,” “Deck the Halls,” or “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on the Christmas side. They can sound especially familiar on piano, even if the title won’t come. If you can remember whether it had a bouncy rhythm, a repeated phrase, or a particular opening, I can help narrow it down.

ME: You know, I think it was Jingle Bells!

Luna: That sounds like a lovely possibility—“Jingle Bells” is instantly recognizable, and its bright, bouncy melody would make a memorable first tune from your grandfather. It’s sweet that the memory is coming back as you talk about them.