AfterLight
The image remains stark: months after my mother's death, I am working remotely in my loft apartment, a suffocating sea of plastic storage boxes. Each container held fragments of her life, and generations before her – books, sheet music, antiques, some dating back to the 1800s, relics of a German heritage she refused to relinquish. These treasures, neglected and stored in garages, closets, and attics, had accumulated with each family loss: great-grandmother, grandmother, twin sister, uncle, and finally, my mother. Dampness, mold, tears, and decay permeated everything, mingling with the acrid scent of old cigarette smoke, a constant, grim reminder of her passing.
I was drowning in this inheritance of grief, physically and emotionally encased in my mother's death. The responsibility of sorting through this overwhelming accumulation fell entirely on me, a burden amplified by the isolation of the COVID lockdown.
My mental state was fragile. The raw grief of my mother's cancer and death reopened the deep wounds of my twin sister's loss. I was entangled in an abusive relationship with a true narcissist, battling workplace stress, and navigating escalating family tensions. It didn’t help that I was drinking a lot at that time. Then, COVID hit, adding another layer of chaos. My father who had been separated from my mother for many years, panicked about their intertwined finances and demanded my assistance. I had no idea how to help him because I had no part in their monetary affairs. They hadn’t communicated in a long time about anything. Meanwhile, my brother and his family, along with my mother-in-law, who were living in my mother's house, saw my attempts to help my father sell the property as a betrayal. I was spiraling, overwhelmed, and cognitively fractured.
My sister and I did our best to sift through the remnants of my mother's life. With the help of my friend, Anna, a real estate agent, my father sold the house. We packed everything into storage, later transferring it to my apartment to avoid further costs. The emotional weight of deciding what to do with these heirlooms was immense. Many were beautiful, but I couldn't keep it all, and no one else wanted them. I sought help from an estate company, only to be scammed. They took everything, offered a pittance, and vanished, leaving no records and ignoring my attempts to contact them. Later, I discovered numerous similar complaints on the Better Business Bureau.
This experience etched a deep-seated fear into my soul. The sheer terror of navigating an estate while grieving is enough to drive anyone to the brink. The added complexities of family disputes and disorganized finances compounded the chaos. I desperately needed guidance.
Recently, I discovered AfterLight, a consulting company founded by Rachel Donnelly, specializing in end-of-life and legacy planning. Rachel and her team handle everything from bureaucratic tasks and account management to estate planning, probate, and cleanouts. Her website, www.myafterlight.com, details her comprehensive services, and her book, "Late To Your Own Funeral: How To Leave a Legacy and Not a Log Jam," promises valuable insights.
Speaking with Rachel, I expressed my profound gratitude for her work. It's a service I desperately needed during my darkest hours. She offers more than just practical assistance; she provides a lifeline, preventing others from sinking into the depths of despair. Her clients are given the space to grieve and heal, free from the overwhelming burden of settling affairs.
If you find yourself needing assistance in the chaos and distress that often comes with loss, please consider reaching out to AfterLight.
Thank you, Rachel, for illuminating a path through the darkness.