Estate planning is about relationships.
In many ways, estate planning is, quite literally, an inventory of the quality of our relationships.
Who can you trust with the most important parts of your life? Who will love your children like their own, and raise them with the values you hold dear? Who has the good judgment to steward your money and home if you become incapacitated? Who has the discernment and strength necessary to bear the burden of medical decision-making on your behalf? Who will show up when everything falls apart? Who has the emotional stability to be an asset in crisis? Who has the spiritual fortitude? Who knows how to sit with grief and loss?
Powers of attorney, patient advocates, guardians, personal representatives, and trustees are just estate planning names for your circle of trust.
In my four years talking with hundreds of individuals and couples, I have found that clients tend to fall into one of two camps. Either they have an abundance of people they can name in these critical roles—including friends who have become “chosen family”—or they don’t have anyone.
Too many clients—through no fault of their own—come up empty-handed when I ask, “Who in your life can you count on?”
In my role as legal counselor, I can offer strategies and solutions for any life circumstance. Corporate trustees and professional fiduciaries exist because not every family has people who are both willing and able to take on such responsibilities.
What I cannot do as a lawyer, however, is fix the greater societal and cultural forces that have led to a loneliness epidemic in America. I cannot change the fragmentation of our families, the loss of our ritual spaces, and the impoverishment of our communal lives.
Estate planning reminds us how much we need others. I encourage my clients to use the process they go through with me as an invitation to “deepen their bench” by making a conscious intention to foster authentic relationships and build a community around themselves. It’s not just “fun” to have a social life—it is essential for the building and maintenance of social ties and a social safety net.
When my Dad was dying on home hospice in 2018, my husband and I moved “back home” to western Pennsylvania with a four-year-old and an infant. I could (and hopefully will) write a book about all that I lived and learned in those seven weeks with my Dad. The part of the story I want to tell here, however, is about the power of deep roots in times of crisis.
My parents grew up a mile apart in the same rural community we returned to when I was in high school. My Dad’s mother used to drive my Mom to school when she was in kindergarten. My extended family on both sides stayed local, so multiple generations of family were still close, both physically and relationally. Most of the family, including my parents, were longtime members of local churches.
The depth of the community ties were on full display at my parents’ house during my Dad’s time in hospice. For seven whole weeks, there were meals delivered daily to our doorstep. I don’t know who organized them, and I didn’t know most of the people who were delivering them; they were old friends, neighbors, cousins, and members of multiple churches. For seven weeks, it looked like there was a street festival going on in my parents’ quiet neighborhood. Cars filled the driveway and lined up on the road. Family and friends came to offer prayers, songs, and stories about their favorite memories with my Dad. They cut the lawn, weeded the garden, and washed the dishes.
Like many kids from small towns, I left at age 18 to look for adventure and wider perspectives. Through my travels in the intervening decades, I learned a lot about the world and searched for my place in it. But during those seven weeks back home, while I experienced the beauty and power of a deeply-rooted community, I learned how I wanted to show up in the world.
When we returned to Ann Arbor, our newly-adopted home of only two years, I felt the acuteness of my shallow roots here. I wondered, “What would I do if disaster struck my family? Who would be there for me?”
I didn’t know. Despite my pride at forging my own path in life, I realized that if things really fell apart, I would need to move back home to Pennsylvania. The true source of support and resilience in times of crisis came into stark relief: it is community.
I resolved, with a sense of urgency, to sink my roots deeper into my new hometown, though I didn’t quite know how to do it. I baked several lasagnas and had them waiting in the freezer to deliver to a friend or stranger in crisis. Having newly appreciated the unique role of a multi-generational faith community, we visited several churches and chose a small one that celebrates faith in a way that aligns with our values. We began widening our circle of friends through dinners and backyard barbeques. We dropped everything and showed up when people we knew were in pain or in need. We wanted to pay it forward, to support others the way we had been supported. We also know that in so doing, we were weaving our own web of support.
Less than four years later, our world shattered in a way that was both improbable and unimaginable. Our son, Viggo, was born with one of the rarest genetic conditions in the world. It was a life-limiting diagnosis and we found ourselves in profound need of our community.
And our community showed up.
Our neighbors fully furnished and decorated Viggo’s nursery while we were in the NICU, as he had come two months early. A meal train delivered food for our family daily for nearly eight months! My law school friends and the legal community in Michigan held fundraisers for us. Those funds helped us pay for skilled care so that we could bring Viggo home on life support and purchase a generator to keep his breathing machine going if the electricity cut out. Friends and neighbors took care of our older children for months as we cycled in and out of the hospital.
I learned that one does not need to have lived for generations in a community to sink roots deep. One only needs to intentionally live in a way that fosters authentic relationships. Both one-on-one relationships and membership in larger communities, like schools and churches, neighborhoods and social clubs, are necessary. Building community can be as simple as resolving to say hello and introduce yourself instead of rushing out the door after an event. Offer to help when the opportunity arises. Be the person who shows up. And someday, you will see your community showing up for you.
You might just have more names for your estate plan, as well. 😊
