Hi, I’m Amber Saunders.

Now, my grandmother Dorothea was the only person I knew growing up who did any estate planning (although at the time, I didn’t know that’s what it was called). She had long-term care insurance, health care directives, and power of attorney. She even deeded the house to my mother and my uncle, leaving her and her husband with a life estate in the property. On Sundays, my grandmother and a group of girlfriends would gather to pick stocks together and discuss finances.

Dorothea made sure that her children didn’t have anything to worry about when something happened to her—and it worked. When she was diagnosed with dementia, they didn’t have to scramble to get her affairs in order. Things were easy.

Then, within a 3-year period, my grandfather, grandmother, bonus grandfather, and uncle all died. My mother Aleta spent endless hours traveling from Atlanta to Boston to handle their affairs.

The last to pass away was my Uncle Walter. He didn’t have a will.  Maybe he didn’t think he had enough assets to worry about one, or maybe he just procrastinated. He was the “plant man” at the John Hancock building (he had such an amazing green thumb) and owned his house jointly with Aleta, so what did he need to do all that for?

When Uncle Walter passed in his sleep, my mother had to fly to Boston, hire an attorney, and open a probate estate.  It took her roughly three years of back-and-forth airline flights, fighting with creditors, calling the IRS, and paying attorney fees to get the matter resolved. And it left her with barely a moment to grieve the loss of her loved ones.

There’s a happy ending: after several years, the court finally allowed my mother to sell her childhood home. (She sold it to the amazing Ms. Amanda, a nurse who came in to care for Dorothea and her husband daily.).  That house, my great-grandmother Alice’s house, would fund my mother’s retirement (although it seems I can’t get her to stop working).