paperwork
Death is a lot of paperwork. If you've been around in the last six months, you've probably heard me say this. A few of you have even witnessed me shouting it at the sky.
No one ever tells you how hard it is to settle an estate. How in the midst of an emotional storm you have to make decisions and fill in forms and sign things that move money and assets. How you have to deal with people who may express sympathy, but don't genuinely feel it because they deal with ten of you every day.
I've come to think that we twenty-first century Americans cloak the ends of life in mystery, because no one ever tells you the nitty-gritty truth about childbirth or breastfeeding, either, but I really don't understand why. Like giving birth, settling an estate is, I suppose, not a path one can walk until the circumstances of life lead to it, but I think it would be easier if the whole process were more public. Being present for someone else's turn down the path, seeing the process, would make it easier to walk the path, I think.
The worst part for me has been the way that paperwork has the power to interrupt my day. I may be having a good writing day or working on a household project or reading a good book, and a phone call from one of the banks or the insurance agents or the prosecutor's office or the IRS or the SSA can pull me out of whatever it is I've chosen to do and demand my attention. After the phone call (or e-mail or letter), I'm not always able to return to the progress I had been making.
It seems like just when I think I am caught up, when I feel sure I have a handle on everything, something else pops up. This is very unsettling. It's hard to plan my time when recent experience has taught me to be always waiting for yet another shoe to drop. The grief-induced brain fog I've talked about before further complicates the situation. There is always a moment in which I am thinking, "Is this new? Or did I know this and forget? I couldn't possibly have made such an oversight, could I?" Sometimes I did forget, but not always. Seven months on, new tasks are still being added to my list.
Death is a lot of paperwork. Each piece of paper looks simple. Taking care of all of them is really hard.
There are some things that have made my situation easier:
1. I was my husband's only spouse ever.
2. I knew his system for creating passwords.
3. Joint checking accounts.
There are some things that would have made my situation even easier than that:
1. Having my name on all of the assets and accounts, even the ones acquired or created before we were married.
2. Having important papers stored logically in one place.
I am neither a legal nor a financial expert, so I want to be careful not to give blanket advice, but I think I can safely say the following to everyone:
1. Have a will.
2. Give your next of kin the key to your password system.
3. Invest thought, time, and energy into a filing system that even the fog-brained can follow. Show your next of kin how it works.
No one ever tells you how hard it is to settle an estate. How in the midst of an emotional storm you have to make decisions and fill in forms and sign things that move money and assets. How you have to deal with people who may express sympathy, but don't genuinely feel it because they deal with ten of you every day.
I've come to think that we twenty-first century Americans cloak the ends of life in mystery, because no one ever tells you the nitty-gritty truth about childbirth or breastfeeding, either, but I really don't understand why. Like giving birth, settling an estate is, I suppose, not a path one can walk until the circumstances of life lead to it, but I think it would be easier if the whole process were more public. Being present for someone else's turn down the path, seeing the process, would make it easier to walk the path, I think.
The worst part for me has been the way that paperwork has the power to interrupt my day. I may be having a good writing day or working on a household project or reading a good book, and a phone call from one of the banks or the insurance agents or the prosecutor's office or the IRS or the SSA can pull me out of whatever it is I've chosen to do and demand my attention. After the phone call (or e-mail or letter), I'm not always able to return to the progress I had been making.
It seems like just when I think I am caught up, when I feel sure I have a handle on everything, something else pops up. This is very unsettling. It's hard to plan my time when recent experience has taught me to be always waiting for yet another shoe to drop. The grief-induced brain fog I've talked about before further complicates the situation. There is always a moment in which I am thinking, "Is this new? Or did I know this and forget? I couldn't possibly have made such an oversight, could I?" Sometimes I did forget, but not always. Seven months on, new tasks are still being added to my list.
Death is a lot of paperwork. Each piece of paper looks simple. Taking care of all of them is really hard.
There are some things that have made my situation easier:
1. I was my husband's only spouse ever.
2. I knew his system for creating passwords.
3. Joint checking accounts.
There are some things that would have made my situation even easier than that:
1. Having my name on all of the assets and accounts, even the ones acquired or created before we were married.
2. Having important papers stored logically in one place.
I am neither a legal nor a financial expert, so I want to be careful not to give blanket advice, but I think I can safely say the following to everyone:
1. Have a will.
2. Give your next of kin the key to your password system.
3. Invest thought, time, and energy into a filing system that even the fog-brained can follow. Show your next of kin how it works.
Death is a part of life, and we do not know when we will arrive there. It is wrong of us to avoid thinking about it and planning for it. It is wrong for people in their twenties and thirties to put off writing a will. It is wrong to sustain the mystery.
Death is a lot of paperwork, and you should know that because someday you will be the next of kin.
As I read these words it struck me that though out recent experiences were vastly different, there are a lot of similarities. The brain fog, the idea that what we've been through and are going through is somehow, for some nexplicable reason to be kept quiet... I think this is a large part of why I've been so open on my blog when I write about cancer and the ripples it has created in my life. It wasn't just a cold or a kidney stone, it was a life altering experience which led to one after another of the same. It changed me in ways I'd never has for seen in a million years, some good, some bad, but in the end I learned that there is no other shoe to drop. Cancer, much like death, is a lot of work and paperwork. I have so many folders full to bursting with medical records, bills, receipts, pamphlets and booklets trying to explain how to cope with it... The list goes on, and on, and on.
ReplyDeleteI can promise you this, it will get better in time. I can also tell you this, even though I think you are already aware, you don't have to walk this path alone... When you need help, reach out, ring the bell, make the call. I think a large part of what's missing in the way we handle death, dying and being very sick is how we deal with it as a community. We are social creatures by nature, so how did we get to this place where we feel alone, where we feel people need space to deal with the Big Stuff™...?
I know we are far away and I wish we were closer and could physically help more, but if you ever need us please don't hesitate to call. Any time. Day or night.
Oh, and thanks for the advice. I'll take it to heart...
Thanks, Tracy. I think part of why our instinct is to give people space is that American culture values individuality and privacy so much. Even as I wrote this post, I found myself unwilling to offer much in the way of specific tasks, agencies, and forms. I have, however, been more open about discussing specifics face to face with close friends.
DeleteI definitely know that I'm not alone, and I do reach out when I need support or help. The grief posts on this blog are a way to let lots of people know how I'm doing all at once, so that they don't have to ask me when I might not have anything to say or even want to answer.