You can’t start probate without a death certificate. In fact, you can’t do much of anything without one. Luckily, this is something that Smart Cremation took care of for me, but there were a few hiccups.

To Obtain the Death Certificate I Needed My Siblings’ Signatures

What information did I need to obtain a death certificate? The form I was given requested my dad’s name, birthdate, address and social security number. Not expected was the section asking for my grandparent’s full names and states of birth. After a little digging and help from family, I found them. So far, so good. Then, I was told that I must have both of my siblings’ signatures for my father to be cremated. Crap!

Not a lot of people know I have a brother. He is 3 years younger than I, but we didn’t really grow up together. He lived with my dad and I with my mother after my parent’s divorce. At the time, I had no idea where he was (and still don’t), but if he was alive, he was most likely in jail. His last known address was the Arizona State Penitentiary. There was no way to find him. Gratefully, we were able to let his signature slide. My dad had disinherited him in the will.

I knew where to find my sister. The bad news here is that she was already making it clear that I was not to be trusted.

Who Owns the Business?

Conversations between us became strained over the weekend (our father passed on a Friday). My sister was under the misguided impression that she and I now owned our father’s appliance repair business, and she was basically going to take it over immediately. She told me I could help if I wanted. At this point, I really didn’t know who legally owned what or what were the next steps to take, but I knew as executor, it was my job to protect the estate. Contrary to her opinion, my sister was not capable of running the business.

All of our uncles also had careers in appliance repair, so I asked our dad’s younger brother if he could assist us in keeping the company running. This did not sit well with my sister. I am not sure why. It was hard to follow her train of thought, but it was obvious it was all about the money for her. She became paranoid that our uncle and I were going to screw her over. She stopped taking my calls. If she wouldn’t talk to me, how was I going to get her signature?

The First Day at the Shop

Our uncle and aunt accompanied me to the shop early Monday morning. I had chosen not to tell the staff about dad’s death as to not ruin their Christmas and to give myself a chance to breath. I had asked my sister to also keep it quiet, but by the tears streaming down the parts manager’s face as she greeted us, I became aware they knew. In fact, my sister had told each and every one of them the night before. It was not how I wanted them to find out.

As each employee showed up for work, there were hugs and tears. They were told it was going to be business as usual for now, and our uncle would be there to help out as needed. We started going through my dad’s desk, waiting for my sister to arrive.

So Much Drama Just to Sign a Death Certificate

She came through the door a few minutes later trailed by an elderly man in a bad thrift store suit. She bellowed out that this man was her representative. His job, it seemed, was to intimidate our uncle, so our uncle would leave. He tried to accomplish this by yelling a lot. Now picture an old man with a cane who could barely walk trying to scare our uncle. It didn’t work. I finally got the representative to back off and everyone to calm down and turned to the matter at hand, obtaining my sister’s signature.

A little white lie helped to get her attention. I told her the hospital required the paperwork first thing that morning. Luckily, she never asked me why. I pulled the document up on DocuSign. Her first challenge was why the ashes were being delivered to me. Like, I would trust her with the ashes. I said it was because I was the executor, another small fib. She paused, then continued on. Funny, how she completely ignored the pages regarding the cost of cremation. It was no surprise she did not offer to assist with payment. There were more questions, but I don’t remember exactly what they were. Her tone was aggressive though.

It seemed like hours, but after the 15 minutes or so it took her to finish reading, she signed the document. Then, she decided to take the buffoon (her representative) back to where she found him. As the door closed behind her, everyone in the building let out a sigh of relief.

The next few days were awful, and it became apparent I needed legal help immediately. More on that in my next blog.

If you missed the beginning of my story, click here.