Many of us have been there. And those that haven’t, will one day go there. To that day when the remaining possessions of a dying or deceased parent need to be addressed. Silver spoons and fragile demitasse cups cry out for attention the way a small child summons his audience before plunging into the deep end of the pool. Faded photographs, random keys, and antique sideboards all scream for equal consideration before sliding into an abyss that can be healing or haunting.
There are as many methods of handling this situation as there are people. Some families sit quietly through official readings of a will; others attend their own makeshift auctions and drawings, pulling little pieces of their parent out of a hat, then wondering how a box of costume jewelry or an old nightstand can bring them comfort through their private grieving. One thing I have learned, though, is that it does not matter if the estate is worth millions or pennies. Often children will have difficulty with the process, regardless of its worth. Why? Because the disbursement signifies fairness. And a sense of fairness validates a child’s worth more than any tangible object. And often, in these situations, you are not the professional or adult persona you present to the world. You are a child. A child wanting and needing to know your parent loved you.
I recently went through this process in my own family, as my mother’s severe dementia has relegated her to a nursing home. My mother does not own many things of great material worth, except for a beautiful antique bedroom set and dining room set that she and my father had hunted down at small antique stores and curated throughout the years. Aside from that, some old photographs, a few sentimental pieces of jewelry, and a dense fog of complicated emotions. My mother married an extremely controlling man one year after the death of my father. Overnight, her world changed. Our world changed. Her husband put an abrupt end to traditional Sunday lunches at her house, censored phone calls, and systematically estranged her from her children. You are probably thinking that this sounds like a case of spoiled adult children, but I can give you startling examples of his malice and dysfunction. Believe me when I say it is a multi-layered, intensely painful and bewildering cloud that my mother left in her wake. If medals were awarded for dysfunction, I’m certain my family would receive one, but unfortunately that would be one more material item over which for us to argue.
Large families also have to deal with the varying personalities of the children. And for some reason, many families seem to have at least one member who, in some way or another, wreaks discord among the ranks. The taker. On paper, this sound petty, but in the midst of grief and all the logistics involved with executing an estate, this is often a major quagmire. A Gordian knot requiring the sharpest of swords to cut through layers of hurt and tangled family dynamics.
At this point in this article, if you are expecting some sophisticated, academic formula to untie the knot in your own situation, I have none. What I do have, in fact, is a simple proposal. Keep in mind two things. First, disbursing an estate isn’t really about the procedure at all. For everyone but the taker, it is not about walking away with the dining room table or a pocketful of lost keys. It is about fairness. Any system will do the job, as long as it is a democratic one. My family handled the situation with a fairly rudimentary plan. Several of my siblings and I met. We informed those not present of our plan; we inventoried my mother’s possessions; we scribbled the items on scraps of paper and drew them from a hat. Stand-ins drew for those children not present. We informed everyone of the results, took our drawn loot, and spent the rest of the evening healing.
Secondly, don’t be afraid to take the lead. Stepping forward and implementing a fair – albeit simple – plan to disburse the estate is NECESSARY. Otherwise, some children with quieter voices or unspoken grievances may harbor resentment for years. Go ahead. Pull the scrap paper from the hat, hold it next to your heart, and let the healing can begin.
