Twelve plain questions, a verdict in hours, and every gap named. Free — and nothing you answer leaves your browser.
An organizer nobody knows about is a diary. The plan becomes real in one conversation — and it's the step people postpone for years because it sounds heavy. It isn't. It's fifteen minutes, it flatters the person you ask, and here is nearly the whole script.
Pick a calm moment, not a holiday table. Then, plainly:
"I'm putting my papers in order — the just-in-case kind. If I ever ended up in the hospital and couldn't speak for myself, I'd want you to be the first person called. Would you be willing? You wouldn't be alone in it — I've written down where everything is, and there's a backup person too."
Notice what the ask contains: it's about being unreachable, not about dying; it names a backup, so it isn't a life sentence; and it promises written instructions, so it isn't a burden dumped in a lap. Most people say yes, and mean it.
Tell them exactly: the drawer, the folder, the file on the computer, the copy with the neighbor. "Somewhere in the study" is not a location. Also tell your backup where it lives — chains break at their weakest link, and the weakest link is always a location nobody said out loud.
Write the date of this conversation on the organizer's first page. When you review it each year, your person gets one short message: "Still current, still in the blue folder." Twenty seconds, once a year, and the plan stays real.
The Organizer Kit's Handover section is this whole conversation as a worksheet — the ask, the checklist of what changes hands, the record of where things live. See the kit.