Unlike me, most of my friends still have their parents. Most of my friends have never had to write an obituary, or file a life insurance claim, or deal with probate court. The closest most of my friends have come to a mortgage is browsing homes they’ll never be able to afford on Zillow. Meanwhile, I inherited a mortgage, along with several guns, broken exercise equipment, cabinets full of expired pills and 34 decorative fish.
When my parents died, I was prepared for my grief — but I was completely unprepared for the legal and financial ramifications. I knew there would be a will or a trust or something (both, as it turns out), but I could only conceive of a will in terms of what I’d seen on TV. Someone dies, and then their friends and family, appropriately dressed in black, gather in a stately room while an elderly lawyer reads a list of who gets what. In reality, my dad’s will was in a cardboard box next to the Christmas decorations. He did have a lawyer, who answered almost none of my questions. I didn’t even know if I was asking the right questions!
