Soapbox

Waiting for the Shoe to Drop

In a way this whole spring has been waiting for disaster: for someone I love to get coronavirus, for Trump and his Republican sycophants to declare martial law and admit that democracy was a failed experiment (they’re coming closer to that every day). But these past few days have really ramped up the negative anticipation.

On Friday, according to the Post Office tracking system, my cousin Andy H. got my letter informing him that I’m throwing in the towel and letting him deal with whatever’s left of Margaret’s estate. F**k him and his need to control and dominate everyone. Any hope I had that he wouldn’t be a jerk about this has been squashed. I’m cutting my losses and walking away.

OK, so I always knew it would be a challenge to be Margaret’s executor, because of her brothers. These are the guys who, when she told them she was going to seminary to become a minister, basically said “Why? You’re going to hell anyway. Why waste your time?” Who never once came to her church and saw what a true leader she was there, saw how her strength shown like a beacon. Who scarcely could be bothered with her at all in her (unholy, deviant) life. Andy is pretty well off, but he left her to beg for help from friends and distant relations when her total disability left her impoverished to the point where she couldn’t afford food.
I knew that he (and to a lesser extent his brother David) would be a jerk. But I thought it would be easier than this. For one thing, I thought there would be a signed will, giving me actual authority to do the things I needed to do. I also didn’t know that she would die suddenly right as she was getting ready to move into an assisted living facility, and right as the state was going on a widespread lock-down because of a deadly global pandemic.

So there I was: 5 1/2 days until Margaret had to be out of her apartment, no legal access to her bank account, no idea what to do with all her stuff (she had fallen way behind on getting ready to move) and no legal authority to do anything. When she asked me to be her executor Margaret told me that there would be nothing much to settle: she had no savings or belongings of significant value… for her family to get pissy over. That last part she didn’t say, but it was the subtext. They weren’t going to challenge me over pots and pans, tables and shelves.
Right?

It started off badly when it turned out that Margaret had not put either of her brothers on the list of people to inform of her death, so they weren’t called. Probably just an omission born of illness, though they had never cared much for her in life~ perhaps she though they wouldn’t care about her death. After their initial “Why weren’t we informed?!” upset, the first phone calls I had with them were fine.
They were happy with me acting as executor- why not? It saved them having to deal with things, and I live a lot closer than they do. They did push for me to request an autopsy, which I refused. Margaret had been given a terminal diagnosis months earlier. An autopsy would cost a lot of money (that they certainly wouldn’t offer to pay) and probably delay the issueing of the death certificate. And without a signed, legal will, I could do almost nothing without that death certificate.

I rushed to her apartment after picking up her effects and arranging for the crematorium to collect her body. A good friend of hers from the church was already there and gave me the bad news: she found the paperwork giving me medical power of attorney and her living will, but not the will itself. We all knew what the will had said: me as executor, her partner’s daughter (Margaret’s own child in the eyes of everyone but the law) to inherit anything that might be left after the bills were paid. The apartment was a mess, papers and unopened mail everywhere, half-packed boxes in a corner.

We started sorting through papers, filling boxes and throwing things away. This was Thursday afternoon. Her lease was up Wednesday morning. I was told (never found anything written down) what company she had hired to move her posessions to the facililty where she planned to move. I switched the destination to a storage unit down the road and agreed to pay the bill.  What else could I do with all her stuff? Several pieces of furniture could be sold at an antique mall where my sister sells things- but antique malls are all closed right now. The other things could probably get $200 at a well-advertized yard sale- but no one is having those for the forseeable future.

I designated boxes to go to her daughter Elizabeth (things pertaining to Elizabeth’s mom and brother, both dead now) and others to go to the Hawk family. With Becky’s help I took 3 carloads of stuff to a nearby Volunteers of America that advertized on their sign that they were still open. And I made phone call after phone call.
Her papers were in such a mess that I had no idea what outstanding bills needed to be paid. She had expensive medical equipment that needed to be returned. It was a race against the clock, but on Wednesday morning, as I sat a safe distance away in the laundry room, wearing a mask, the movers packed up what was left and took it to storage. Moving and first month’s rent was about $600, but at least I didn’t have to drive out there every day and spend hours sifting through her posessions.

Then the texts started. Did you find this? What did you do with this? Send me papers about the car loan. I need info on the car insurance. Nothing genuinely confrontational, but given the very bossy, even bullying history we have in our (blessedly few) dealings with Andy, they made both Ted and me nervous. When I asked them both for their assurance that they were so far satisfied with what I was doing, I got a reply days later that mentioned something about ‘consulting with lawyers’.
Warning lights went from flashing yellow to orange.

Twice I told Andy that if he had any problems with how I was handling things, hey, I would happily transfer all responsibility to him, as representative of his mother, my Aunt Patty, and Margaret’s legal heir, since her more recent will (which was supposed to name me executor!!) never was found.
(Part of that is my fault. I should have realized that, despite her assurances that she was “doing alright!” Margaret was NOT doing alright, and that her assurances that she was handling getting the will we discussed signed and witnessed was probably no more reliable.)

ANYWAY, he responded to my communication by demanding more information about the car.

Once of the few brotherly things (that I know of) that Andy did for Margaret was to co-sign on a loan so she could buy a decent car. For about a year Margaret earned money driving for Uber, and you need a decent car to do that. About 10 days before she died Andy and his brother Dave came to Columbus and collected the big roll-top desk that she couldn’t take to her assisted living apartment and Andy took posession of the car.
I assumed that when he did this he also collected what paperwork he needed for it. Why wouldn’t he do this? Margaret was right there, alive, to tell him where the paperwork was! He was driving it away forever.
The original plan had been for them to transfer the title to him at that time, but due to our old friend Covid, the BMV was only working by appointment (to keep as few people in the offices at a time as possible) and he didn’t think of that, and Margaret wasn’t well enough to go with him and sign the transfer anyway. So he just drove off with the car and, to my mind, it was no longer an issue for me to worry about.
Except rather than put on his big boy pants and deal with it himself, he made sure that it very much was my problem.

He bitched because he said she was upside-down on the loan, and owed about 2K more than the car was worth. (While simultaneously demanding I find paperwork on the loan for him. Really? Who co-signs on a car loan and doesn’t keep paperwork on the loan you are responsible for? And if he didn’t have any paper on it, how did he know that she was upside-down?)
As this was a rich man crying poor, I commiserated by saying that I was out 2K already too and suggested he just let the bank reposess the car, if he didn’t want to pay. (My credit rating!” he complained. Yeah, well, you signed for the loan so you took that chance) I mailed him everything I could find pertaining to the car (Including a death certificate as soon as I got them so he could get the title transferred) but he kept bugging me about it.

Then a week ago I got a text saying that 1) He and Dave needed to come ‘assess the contents of the storage unit’ on Friday and I should let them in, and 2) by the way the latest installment of the car insurance bill was about to auto-debit Margaret’s tiny bank account.

1) WHY? The stuff in storage isn’t going anywhere and, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re still under an “essential travel/business only” order.
2) WHY? Why is the estate paying insurance on a vehicle no longer in its possession? Why not just cancel the insurance on a car that surely you’re not driving now, since you say you haven’t transferrred the title yet? It doesn’t need to be insured.
And because I wasn’t named executor and I couldn’t go down to teh probate court (so things that normally take a day were taking a week or more) I still couldn’t see how much was in her checking account. For all I knew, there wasn’t enough there to pay for the insurance.

The reply was that
1) We want to make sure you don’t sell off stuff that the family should have (Bull. I’m not able to sell anything now and I sent 4 or 5 boxes of everything I found remotely related to his family off with his son Tim the day before the movers came) and
2) You need to get me a court order to switch the car title and I can’t get the insurance in my name without the title. (Ridiculous. See #2 above for why you do not need insurance)

Warning lights switched from orange to red.

After talking with several people in my family (including my Dad, who still has a bad taste in his mouth for Andy H. after the way he behaved when Grandma died and the family came to divide her posessions) I put in a call to the Franklin County Probate Resource Center to ask the staff guy (who had gotten me started filing papers) how hard it would be for me to withdraw as executor. Because this crap is just too much.
While I never had any illusions of getting a executor’s fee out of the job, I had hoped to get at least some of my expenses reimbursed. But if  Andy kept sucking money out of her account to pay things like car insurance bills, there wouldn’t be any money left even for her burial! And while I was willing to write off my entire $2000 expenditure in the name of That’s what you do for Family, I was not willing to have her brother sniping at me and casting insinuations that I was selling/stealing valueable stuff when I had no will saying I have the right to dispose of the estate.
I had shouldered all of the responsibility with none of the legal authority.

The reply was- there’s nothing you need to do to withdraw as executor because you are not and have never been the executor. You’re just the person who stepped in and did what needed to be done. And that’s fine, as long as the family agrees to it. And if they don’t… well, I can refer you to a lawyer. Who will probably charge $350 an hour.
Yipes.
All I had to do was- nothing. Formal probate proceedings had not yet been opened- that’s what I was in the process of filing, and with covid, it was taking forever. Now, without probate being filed by someone I couldn’t get reimbursed for my expenses by the estate and would have to rely on the Hawk family to do it. But there is no guarantee that the estate could do that anyway!
If the family decides to file, I will have 6 months to demand compensation, and with the paperwork and letter I have, the state will recognize my claim. If I don’t file, and they decide not to file either, I was definitely going to be stuck with the bills. unless they decided to do the decent thing and re-imburse me.
It seemed the better hand, and Ted agreed. “I don’t have a problem making a $2000 donation to take care of Margaret” he said. “I want you done with these guys.”

So I sent Andrew H a registered letter formally telling him that I am going to turn over the storage unit and its contents and all responsibility for anything else that needs to be done to him. You wanted to ‘assess’ the stuff? Come and get it. Or take over payments on the unit rental. I’ll give you whatever papers and notes I have, plus Margaret’s cell phone, wallet, checkbook, the cash she had with her- all the things I was not willing to mail to you. Pick a day- and be prepared to buy your own lock, because the one on the unit now is mine.

And now I’m waiting for him to reply.
Will he be belligerent? I’m betting no, because he REALLY doesn’t want this burden- he just wanted to boss me around while I did all the work. He knows there’s nothing of any monetary value there. But who knows.

I informed Elizabeth that I am withdrawing and will do my best to get all the things I set aside for her out of the unit and into my basement. I will have to let Andy inspect it and assure himself that I’m not smuggling out secret wealth and that there is nothing there that he can remotely claim the H family should have.  And I reminded her that I had found a paper about life insurance, though it wasn’t recent and Margaret had never mentioned it when we discussed her finances. I gave her the policy number, Elizabeth called and- son of a gun, the policy was still good, and yes, she IS the beneficiary! Some good news!

She said she could deal with it if they kept her stuff.
“I’ve got what matters: I’ve got Margaret” I said.
“Do you think they might demand her ashes for themselves?” she asked.
“If they do I’ll charge them $1200 for them” I said, (the cost I paid the crematorium). “Then I’ll take a small amount out for you and they can have the rest.”
She was good with that.

The Hawk brothers disdain Elizabeth, perhaps because she represents the ‘fallen’ nature of their sister: the daughter of her beloved partner Stephanie, who led Margaret into sin. (These are the guys who to this day refuse to admit that their 3rd brother, Kenny, died of AIDS- because he was gay also. He allowed them this fiction about his sexuality, so they covered their eyes and never kicked him out the way they did Margaret- even though they knew.)

So I suppose it is possible that they will demand the remains sister whom they never respected in life, just to foil her friends and loved ones from having her in death.
Margaret’s partner, and Elizabeth’s brother all have some of their ashes buried beneath a tree outside of town, in a park. When she is able to travel to Ohio at last Elizabeth and I plan to arrange a memorial service for Margaret, and then she will take her to the tree to be with those who went before her. A small portion is all she needs for that.

So here I am, waiting for that shoe to drop, to see if Andy will be decent about this or make it harder. I know I already discharged my duty to Margaret. I talked to her friends and packed up her belongings and helped her daughter so that SHE didn’t have to deal with the brothers. Hopefully in another week or so I won’t ever have to talk to either of them ever again.
When the time comes that we are able to have a memorial celebration of Margaret’s life and all the gifts she shared with others… I don’t plan to even tell her brothers about it. Someone else can- that’s fine. (I don’t get to say who comes and who does not) But I won’t. They probably wouldn’t come with all those gay people there, and no one will want them there.

Update:
After praising me effusively andalmost *begging* me to keep handling the estate, Andy took over.  Weeks later, shortly after texting me to confirm the amounts on the bills I had paid, I got a call from the crematorium saying that he had called and asked for a copy of the bill and of my payment.
I gave him a copy of every bill and receipt:  moving, storage and crematorium, months ago when they came up to clear out the unit. I showed it to him and made him look at it.  Obviously he still had it, since he quoted it to the penny in his text to me. The only reason I could think of to ask *them* for a copy was to let me know that he was making sure I hadn’t faked the reciepts I gave him.
Seriously?
But a week later I received a check for the full amount of those bills.
Good enough. He did the right thing- I’ll give him that.
My sister says I should block him on my phone and have no further contact with him at all. Tempting.