What My Father’s Death Taught Me About Money

My father died on a Tuesday.

He was 62. A sudden heart attack in his office. By the time they got him to the hospital, he was gone.

The funeral happened in a blur. Relatives arrived. Rituals were performed. People said things. I don’t remember most of it. What I do remember is the weeks that followed - when the grief started mixing with panic.

Because we had no idea where anything was.

The First Week: Searching

My father was the “financial head” of our family. He paid the bills. He managed the investments. He dealt with banks and insurance and taxes.

My mother knew he had accounts. She knew there was insurance. She knew he owned the house we lived in.

But the details? The passwords? The actual paperwork?

“Your father handled all that,” she kept saying. As if he would walk through the door any moment and sort it out.

He wouldn’t. And we had to sort it out ourselves.

What We Didn’t Know

Here’s a partial list of what we couldn’t find in the first month:

What	The Problem
Bank accounts	We found 3 passbooks. Turns out there were 5 accounts
Fixed deposits	Found certificates for ₹8 lakh. Actual FDs were ₹22 lakh
Insurance policies	Knew he had LIC. Didn’t know the policy numbers or sum assured
Mutual funds	Had no idea these existed. Found out 6 months later
Property documents	In a bank locker we didn’t know about
PPF account	Existed. We discovered it after 8 months
Demat account	Never found the login. Had to go through NSDL

Every discovery meant more paperwork. More visits to offices. More explanations to officials who asked, “Why don’t you know?”

Because he never told us. Because we never asked. Because we assumed there would be time.

The Hunt for Paperwork

We became detectives in our own home.

We went through every drawer, every file, every folder on his computer. We found:

Old Diwali cards from 1998
Receipts for a TV bought in 2003
Warranties for appliances we no longer owned
Tax returns from the last 15 years (thankfully)

What we couldn’t find:

A single list of all his accounts
Any mention of a will
Insurance policy documents (the originals)
The PIN to his bank locker

His laptop had 47 folders. None labeled anything useful. His email had 12,000 unread messages. We spent weekends searching for keywords: “LIC,” “policy,” “account,” “nominee.”

The Nomination Surprise

When we finally claimed his LIC policies (it took 4 months), we discovered the nominee was his mother.

My grandmother. Who had passed away in 2001.

He never updated it. Probably meant to. Never got around to it.

This meant the insurance company needed:

Legal heir certificate
Indemnity bond
Multiple affidavits
A lawyer

A claim that should have taken 30 days took 7 months.

The Bank Account Nightmare

His salary account was frozen the day after his death.

My mother was a joint holder on one savings account. That ₹15,000 was the only money we could access immediately.

The rest - over ₹30 lakh across various accounts - was locked behind “succession certificate” requirements.

Do you know how long a succession certificate takes?

In our case: 11 months. Because the court was backed up. Because there was a documentation issue. Because my father had mentioned his house in the petition but the address on one document didn’t match.

For 11 months, my mother lived on her small pension and whatever relatives quietly slipped her.

For 11 months, I couldn’t tell her the exact amount that was coming. Because I didn’t know.

What I Learned

I’m writing this 3 years after my father’s death. The grief has softened, though it never goes away. But the lessons are burned into me.

Lesson 1: Nobody Thinks They’ll Die Tomorrow

My father was a planner in every other way. He had backup files of backup files at work. He checked his car’s oil regularly. He never missed a doctor’s appointment.

But he never sat us down and said: “Here’s where everything is.”

Because who does that? Who prepares for their own death?

Now I know: everyone should.

Lesson 2: What You Know Doesn’t Matter - What Your Family Knows Does

My father knew exactly where everything was. He could have rattled off policy numbers from memory.

None of that helped us. His knowledge died with him.

The only knowledge that mattered after his death was what he had shared with us.

Lesson 3: Nominations Are Not “Set and Forget”

He nominated his mother in 1985 when he bought that first LIC policy. Probably at his mother’s insistence. He was 25.

For the next 37 years, he paid premiums faithfully. He never updated the nominee.

One small form. Maybe 10 minutes of work. Would have saved us 7 months of lawyer visits, court appearances, and bureaucratic torture.

Lesson 4: “Later” is a Lie

Every financial advisor had probably told my father to make a will. He probably said “I’ll do it later.”

Every bank had probably asked him to add a nominee. He probably thought “There’s time.”

Later never came. The “time” he thought he had was 62 years, and it ended without warning on a Tuesday afternoon.

Lesson 5: Your Family’s Pain is Proportional to Your Disorganization

The families who sail through inheritance are the ones where the deceased was organized. Where someone knew the accounts existed. Where nominees were updated. Where there was a will.

The families who suffer - sometimes for years - are the ones left piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

My father wasn’t careless. He wasn’t indifferent. He just thought there was time.

What I Do Differently Now

Since my father’s death, I’ve done everything I wished he had done.

I Made a List

Every account I have. Every policy. Every investment. Every login. All in one document.

My wife knows where it is. She knows how to access it. We review it together once a year.

I Updated All Nominations

Every bank account has my wife as nominee. Every investment. Every insurance policy.

I checked them all. Not “I think they’re right.” I logged in, verified, and screenshot’d the confirmation.

I Made a Will

It cost me ₹12,000 to have a lawyer draft it. I have two copies - one with the lawyer, one in my bank locker.

My wife knows the will exists. She knows who the lawyer is. She knows where the locker is.

I Told My Wife Everything

This was the hardest part. Because talking about your own death feels morbid.

I sat her down one weekend. I showed her:

Every bank account and how to access it
Every insurance policy and how to claim it
Every investment and where it’s held
Where the property documents are
What to do if something happens to me

She cried. I almost stopped. But we finished the conversation.

Now she knows. And if I’m not here tomorrow, she won’t spend months searching.

I Keep Records Updated

Every new account, every new investment, every change - I update the master list.

It takes 5 minutes. It could save my family months of pain.

The Conversation No One Wants to Have

I understand why my father never told us. The conversation is uncomfortable.

“Hey, if I die, here’s where the money is” is not a normal thing to say.

But neither is leaving your family in chaos because you couldn’t bring yourself to be uncomfortable for one afternoon.

I’ve had that conversation now. It was awkward. It was emotional. My wife didn’t want to think about it.

But it’s done. And if something happens to me, she’ll grieve. She’ll struggle. But she won’t have to become a detective while her world falls apart.

What I Wish My Father Had Done

If I could go back and ask my father to do one thing differently, it wouldn’t be “earn more” or “invest better” or “work less.”

It would be: Tell us.

Tell us where the accounts are. Tell us where the documents are. Tell us who to call if something happens to you.

It would have taken him an hour. Maybe two.

It would have saved us a year of struggle.

Your “What If” Checklist

If you’re reading this and you’re the “financial head” of your family, ask yourself:

If something happens to me tomorrow:

□ Does my spouse know all the bank accounts?
□ Does someone know the insurance policies and policy numbers?
□ Are all nominees up to date?
□ Is there a will? Does someone know where it is?
□ Can my family access money immediately (joint account)?
□ Are property documents organized and findable?
□ Does someone know my important passwords?
□ Have I actually told someone all of this?

If you checked less than 5, you’re my father.

The Real Inheritance

My father left us money. Not a fortune, but enough. After the succession certificate came through, after the insurance claims were settled, after the property was transferred - we were financially okay.

But the real inheritance wasn’t the money.

It was the lesson: Don’t do this to your family.

Don’t leave them searching. Don’t leave them guessing. Don’t leave them explaining to bank officials why they don’t know their own father’s finances.

Don’t make them grieve and investigate at the same time.

It’s Not About Money

People think estate planning is about money. About assets. About who gets what.

It’s not.

It’s about sparing your family the additional pain of confusion during the worst time of their lives.

My father didn’t mean to hurt us. He loved us more than anything. He provided for us his entire life.

But in his final gift to us, he left a puzzle instead of a map.

I’ve learned from that. I hope you will too.

The Simple Ask

I’m not asking you to be morbid. I’m not asking you to dwell on death.

I’m asking you to spend one weekend getting organized.

Make a list of everything financial
Update your nominations
Tell someone where to find things
Consider a will

That’s it. A few hours of mild discomfort now vs. months of suffering for your family later.

My father would do it if he could go back. I know he would.

You still can.

Your family doesn’t have to go through this. Anshin keeps your financial details organized and shared with the people who matter.

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What My Father's Death Taught Me About Money