When family-office professionals talk about matters that concern wealthy families, the word that seems to pop up most often is “complexity” – the legal and financial affairs of their clients differ by orders of magnitude from those of the average Canadian.
That idea has returned to me often these past few months while I’ve served as the executor for my mother, an ordinary Canadian of modest means.
If her very simple estate could be so complicated, I thought, what must estate planning be like for those who face real complexity in theirs?
But some lessons of my mom’s situation might apply at any level of wealth, such as the following thoughts.
Communication beats secrecy
My mother may not have done everything right in planning her estate, but she covered the basics. She had one (and only one) recent, legal will prepared by a professional that was updated to match the current shape of our family. She gave power of attorney for her health and property to her three children equally. She left a simple statement of her wishes (thanks in part to Ontario’s estimable Funeral Advisory and Memorial Society, which has counterparts across the country). She was proud to have prepaid her cremation and would occasionally remark with satisfaction that, “When I die, you only have to call one number, and they’ll come and pick me up.”
But the biggest thing she did right was to let everyone know where the documents were: in plain sight in an accordion file in the kitchen. (She even kept a copy of the funeral-home phone number in her purse.) Of course, those with more complexity likely require more security as to the placement of the documents, but the general idea is sound.
If you doubt this, consider the situation of a relative of mine. Her father’s executor faced a puzzling Catch-22 when she discovered that the will was in a safety-deposit box that she couldn’t access unless she could show proof that she was the executor – but the will she wanted to retrieve was the proof she would need to show!
Multiple identities are a nuisance
It would have been great if she had noticed this and started to standardize her name on ID cards, bank records and so on. This would be the case also for people who have altered their name in an international relocation, or who come from blended families, or who have made a gender transition – or any of the many other reasons to acquire a new name.
Painful events derail common sense
There was a queasy moment when our generally friendly bank official suddenly turned to my siblings and me and asked in a surprisingly accusatory voice, “Who’s Hugh Hood?”
Hugh Hood was my dad, who had by that time been dead for about 20 years. But somehow – probably because it was too painful at the time – my mother never took his name off their joint bank account. This meant the establishment of an estate account had to be delayed until we could provide official proof of death. (We did eventually unearth the documents from 20 years ago, but not until we had spent time and money ordering duplicates from another province.)
It’s understandable to block out painful associations around losses or failures, but it invites later problems.
The Swedes have a point
Families of complexity have advisors to keep track of international taxation, pension and inheritance regulations, to set up bequests and plan for capital gains. It’s fairly straightforward to arrange for the disposition of things that have a predictable dollar value.
But my mother was an artist, and her home was bursting with thousands of photographs, hundreds of letters, scores of books signed by authors and dozens of artworks. Many hold value as artifacts of historical or archival interest, but they’re not easy to evaluate in dollar terms.
Plus, the world has changed; items that were treasured in the 20th century, such as antique furniture, books, silverware and china, can barely be given away now. Passing things along to those who want them is a great kindness to whoever looks after the estate.
Trust your heirs
After my mom’s funeral an old friend came up to me looking tearful. “In a way, this is two funerals,” she said, before thanking me for giving her an occasion to grieve her own mother’s passing. Her mother’s written wishes had stated that there should be “no funeral.” One imagines that this was done out of consideration, the wish not to be a bother, yet it left a bereaved family missing the chance to come to terms with her loss and mourn together.
The addition of a single word would have done it; my mom wrote that she wanted “no particular funeral,” which freed us up to do what we liked. A wise move, because the funeral is for the living – as everyone says until they start planning their own.
Likewise, her decision to name three siblings as equal executors and heirs was a choice I questioned before her death, when she would simply say, “I’m sure the three of you will figure it out.” It turned out she was right; we did, and it was partly because our mother had the wisdom to recognize that the best way to manage your legacy after you’re gone may be to leave it in the hands of those who love you.
Writer Sarah B. Hood is a regular contributor to Canadian Family Offices who often writes about business, urban issues, sustainability and the culinary world. Her most recent book is Jam, Jelly and Marmalade, A Global History (Reaktion Books).
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