I found my mother’s handwritten list of passwords on a yellow notepad in the top drawer of her desk - under a manila folder labeled “family.”
That was week two.
I lost both of my parents over the span of about two years, and what followed each loss compounded the pain of the experience in ways we never saw coming.
My mother was the glue who held our family together. And when she got sick, everything we thought we knew about her care, her wishes, the critical details of her life - we realized we were mostly guessing.
Then she was gone.
No one prepares you for the illness that doesn’t go away. And nobody tells you what happens next. A courthouse you’ve never seen needs forms you’ve never heard of, by a deadline that was invisible. You’re calling banks about accounts you didn’t know existed and looking up terms like “letters testamentary” while you’re still learning to walk into her house without hearing her voice.
Somewhere between the fourth trip to the notary and the tenth time I had to handle her death certificate, it dawned on me: there has to be a better way.
I’ve spent 15 years building products that untangle complex problems for some of the world’s largest companies. Now I’m building one for the moments families need it most.
It’s called Afterpath.
If any of this sounds familiar - you’re not alone. And you shouldn’t have to figure it out alone, either.
More on that soon.