The Death Sheet: Step one to understanding my dad’s finances
My mom spent the last years of her life trying to organize her and my dad’s finances. The result was a binder stuffed with old credit card bills, paperwork on life insurance policies that may or may not have been active, and scraps of notebook paper with usernames and passwords written over white out, circled with highlighter, and scribbled out again. She called it the Death Binder, the knower of all things when it came to her and my dad’s financial life. I thought it was sweet.
Death Binder didn’t help us much when she died, and it hardly included anything about my dad. I always appreciated the idea behind it though: giving the people you leave behind the boring but crucial information they’ll need to clean up your messy life’s loose ends.
After my mom died, I realized I needed a better understanding of my dad’s finances since I’ll be the one who does his life cleanup. I didn’t want to get involved in his day-to-day spending or anything; I just wanted to know what bank he uses and how much he owes Amazon. So, I picked up where my mom left off and started his Google Death Sheet.
Obviously I didn’t call it his Death Sheet when I brought it up to my dad. He said it was a nice way to honor mom, and that I had his blessing. He said he’d get all of his financial information together and send it to me soon. In the meantime, I started his Sheet. My initial brainstorming session didn’t take long:
I don't even know where this guy was born, of course I don't know anything about his bank accounts
Then eight months went by without him sending me a thing and without me asking a single follow up question.
I knew he wouldn’t be much help unless I repeatedly reminded him about the Sheet. That’s not meant as a dig on my dad either; he’d be the first person to tell you that his organization skills are erratic. I also know how eight months went by without a lick of progress. I just kept doing other stuff. It really is that simple. But why did I let so much time go by without even opening the Sheet?
Sure it’s a grim topic, but the Death Binder normalized talking about death. To me, it helped make the fact that we are all going to die sound like a bureaucratic inconvenience more than a terrifying unknown.
I put it off because asking my dad for more information means I might get it, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
Since my mom died, conversations with my dad have been sprinkled with insights about their past lives, before the first of three kids showed up. I’ve learned things about my dad’s past behavior that aren’t criminal, but certainly count as “fuckboy”. But our talks also include his encouragement to live my life how I want. Lately he’s even said how proud he is of how all us kids turned out. It makes me want to cry and hug him, and scream and throw my phone across the room. The last thing on my mind is asking him how many storage units he has.
Just like I know how I didn’t make progress for so long, I also think I know what to do next. Patiently keep trying. Give him the chance to show he can follow through. Give myself the time to breathe in between calls, and be proud of what I get done regardless of how slowly it happens.