Reader Matt’s dad recently died. We’re sorry for your loss, Matt. There’s never anything else to say when the life of one we remember as god-like when we were children is ultimately proved as fragile as anyone else’s.

But Matt sent us a touching account of another form of grief that often comes about after the passing of a loved one: sorting through a lifetime’s documentation of accounts and finances, trying to get the deceased’s consumer affairs in order. Unfortunately, his father’s affairs seem to have been in a bit of a mess. But no matter how well organized a loved one’s finances are at his time of death, it’s cold comfort to go straight from the funeral to the endless sorting of papers and documentation.

We’re posting this largely to suggest to our readers that they might want to have a serious discussion with their parents about what to do in case they die. My mother has been educating me about her finances, insurance policies, assets and pensions gradually over the last few years, so that I’ll be able to more effectively work in my her and my father’s interests when they die. It’s morbid and slightly uncomfortable, but the bottom line is that there are a lot of people around a loved one’s death who will attempt to manipulate your grief into bad financial or consumer decisions, and they aren’t all in funeral homes. (Another reason my Mom is cool: when I told her that I refused to be preyed upon by insect-like morticians trying to sell me the “Eternal Love” brand model casket for an extra 10k and instead planned on dumping her in the cheapest box at the funeral home I could find, she gave me the thumbs up, as long as I threw her a hell of a wake. I’m Irish. Not much worry there.)

Matt’s email after the jump:

My father just passed away. He was not much of a record keeper, namely because he was one of those never-throw-anything-away types. I mean, who keeps Holiday Thank-You’s from the paper boy from three years ago? So for every one pound of useful documents we find, there are 10 pounds of junk. Being mindful of personal privacy and identity theft, we’re confetti shredding anything even remotely sensitive, before putting it in the trash. At times, we have three shredders going at the same time. My nephew just loves shredding.

When somebody leaves this earth, they leave behind a lot more than memories. I’ve spent hours on the phone canceling services and subscriptions and the like. Here’s just a taste:

– Wireless Phone
– Cable
– Lawn Care
– Local Newspaper
– Misc. Magazine Subscriptions
– Satellite Radio
– ReplayTV Program Guide Service (he was the father of a geek, so naturally he had a few gadgets)
– Credit Cards (who actually has credit balances)?
– Exterminator (the Terminix guy stopped by one day, and was genuinely sad to learn about my dad’s passing… it was oddly touching)
– Insurance Companies (the life insurance certificate looked like it belonged in The Smithsonian)
– Pensions

I’m still sorting out the major financial stuff, with the guidance of legal professionals. Pops did have a Trust and Will to act upon. He had some accounts at a local independent bank (yes, they still do exist)… the assistant manager at the branch closest to my house helped me with everything, and even stayed 15 minutes past closing. I doubt I would have gotten that kind of service at Chase. Interestingly enough, nearly every CSR I’ve dealt with has been not only helpful, but very kind. Whether it’s due to training, or just individual dispositions, it’s been a relief. I guess I’m so used to having to verbally wrestle with this people, it’s disarming when they are both kind _and_ helpful.
I’m employing Quicken to help track the financials of his Trust and Estate, Excel to track my out-of-pocket expenses, etc. I’ve taken to toting around a rolling compter bag so I can carry not only my laptop, but a number of key documents and records.

At the emotional level, it still hasn’t completely sunken in. All the phone calls and paper work I’ve had to do has served as a buffer. The memorial service is coming up, during which I’m sure I’ll have some moments. As soon as the bagpiper plays Amazing Grace, I can guarantee that I’ll lose it. Then I’ll have to, pardon the pun, pay the piper and head to the nearest bar.

We’ll toss a frosty pint back at a Dublin pub in honor of your Dad ourselves, Matt. Good luck!

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