Life, Death and Litigation
Litigation is the most expensive method of dispute resolution, with this issue of costs being a major disadvantage for its use as a means of settlement. It appears almost counter-intuitive then, that a causal factor of litigation is the recovery of money. I find myself asking how can the recovery of money be successful if a large proportion is dedicated to the payment of costs? Unfortunately, I’ve been asking myself this question for two years with still no answer.
We had months of preparation to say goodbye and I thought that once he had passed into whatever great beyond you wish to believe in, that I’d find a sense of peace I hadn’t had since he got sick. See, the thing about having a father that remarried to what I will colourfully call an absolute whack job, and an incredibly large family that are the epitome of overbearing, means that there’s a whole lot of office politics to navigate through. It often felt like I was the only adult in the room, despite being nothing more than a child.
I assumed that given my father’s desire to control what happened after his death, that his will and everything subsequent would go along without hitch. My father’s last act in this world was creating a document that looked after the people he loved. I naively assumed that everyone would respect his last and final act. Boy, was I wrong.
My father’s widow is contesting the distribution of assets. Because of principle or pride, I don’t know. Unfortunately, contesting a will is often successful (1), which suggests my evil stepmother may be victorious. Here’s the thing though, my father’s estate is nothing to be desired. In fact, it’s not worth fighting over. It seems I’ve become nothing more than a piece of evidence supporting the finding that the size of the estate doesn’t matter when contesting a will (2).
So why are people intent on fighting to the death over measly estates?
Grief. A single word that echoes and a feeling that brings people to their knees. It’s a monster that makes us doubt all we said and did. We don’t want to let go but we do want the world to know we were loved. And that quantification of love is reflected in how much we were given. My father’s widows’ grief wants to show the world that she was loved above us all, hence the dispute.
If it were my decision, I wouldn’t fight. I don’t need and never needed a sum of money to know I was loved. Pity my family doesn’t feel the same. My sisters want to fight “because it’s ours”. But really, they don’t care as long as it isn’t hers. And that is what grief does, it creates a competition to see who was loved the most.
Brigham A. Fordham explains that a good lawyer must look beyond the immediate situation, explaining various options and likely consequences (3). But even if a good lawyer said that litigation wasn’t viable, it still wouldn’t matter because of our collective grief. If only I could convince my sister’s and myself to forgive and forget. If only I could communicate amicably with my stepmother. If only we could all agree that each of us was loved.
Time will tell whether my father’s estate survives but, in the meantime, I can’t help but feel horrified that my father has been reduced to a mere money bank.
(1) Barbara Drury, ‘Make your wishes everlasting’, Sydney Morning Herald (online), 11 June 2015 <https://www.smh.com.au/money/planning-and-budgeting/make-your-last-wishes-everlasting-20150610-ghkt37.html>.
(2) Cheryl Tilse et al, ‘Having the Last Word? Will Making and Contestation in Australia’ (2015) University of Queensland, 17.
(3) Brigham A. Fordham, ‘A Good Lawyer’ (2014) 64 Judicial Legal Education 334, 336.
