There is no better man in the world than my dad. He's the reason I have such high standards. He's always been on the level with me, he's always spoken to me as an equal, and he never told me growing up that I was too young to understand. He's always been solid for the family, and no matter what happens to him, he comes out of it with an interesting story to tell.
Some of you may remember a few years ago, before I left here, my father lost his younger brother in a motorcycle accident. Since my uncle didn't have a will, my dad became the executor of his estate. I pitched in as much as I could, as did most of the rest of my family, but it fell entirely to my dad to deal with the legal aspects of distributing his brother's estate. There was also a difficult, clingy, rude and intolerable ex-girlfriend (of my uncle) and my dad's meth-addict youngest brother to deal with, prolonging the endeavor. In all, it took over a year and a half to settle my uncle's estate; a year and a half in which we were all so entangled in the legal aspects of an unforeseen death that we didn't have time to mourn the loss.
When all of this was done, my grandmother decided she wanted to sue the kid who hit my uncle for wrongful death. He'd made an improper lane change, and at the age of twenty, ended a man's life. Most of us thought this was punishment enough, but Grandma wanted to see him suffer. She wanted him to pay. I can't blame her--she'd lost her husband of 65 years and her son both in one year. She was 86 years old, and the number of people she loved was getting smaller every year. She wanted to feel like there was some justice in the world, she wanted to know that the man who'd killed her son would walk away with more than just an "Illegal Lane Change" charge. My father, being the executor, said okay.
Grandma had no idea what a wrongful death suit would entail, but my dad had an idea. Grandma didn't understand that se was sentencing her oldest son to a year and a half more of legal rigamarole, court appearances and meetings with insurance companies and lawyers. Grandma also didn't understand that this would require every member of the family to give a deposition quantifying what the loss of Ronald meant to us, so that the lawyer and insurance company could assign a dollar value to a man's life.
My dad gave a deposition, as did Grandma. The insurance company came back with a number that was, honestly, insulting. Now don't get me wrong, we don't need the money. No one in the family is going through with this because we need the money. The proceeds from liquidating Ron's estate covered all of his outstanding debts and costs. We all have careers and households of our own, and Grandma has a nice pension. We don't need the money. My father went through with this because he wanted his mother to feel there had been some justice done.
Now my turn came to give a deposition. The lawyer thought it would sway the insurance company if we had more "proof of loss". I have to say, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I didn't want to. I thought the lawsuit was wrong, I didn't want the proceeds, and I didn't want any more bureaucracy to get in the way of just missing my uncle. But I did it anyway. Because of my father's example, I did it for the family. I spent two hours answering a stranger's questions, quantifying the worth of a man's life. I cried a lot, even though I didn't want to cry in front of a stranger, and on tape for posterity to be played in front of a judge. I cried, and as I did, I cynically wondered if my tears would make this whole process go faster so that we could al just put it to rest.
Then the depositions were done, and my parents got a printed transcript of my answers. My mother congratulated me on how very sad I had sounded. And then we waited. Things went back and forth between the lawyer, the insurance company, and my dad. They argued about numbers.
The insurance company, I assume realizing they were not going to get away without paying us more than they wanted to, forwarded my father a letter from the kid. The kid who made the illegal lane change. The kid who, had he really wanted to, could have looked us up in the phone book at any time in the past two years. The kid who said on the police report that the death of my uncle was "fucking up my plans for tonight, man." The kid who now, apparently, wanted desperately to meet my father face to face to make amends. My father said no.
The insurance company made another offer, this time stating that if the offer was not accepted, we'd have to go to court. They also casually mentioned that should we choose to go to court over this, there would be over 200 photos of the accident they'd like to go over with my grandmother. My father said fuck you.
They lowballed us again. My father said, no really, fuck you.
Then they went into mediation. My father, the lawyer, and a representative from the insurance company sat in a room for ten hours and argued about numbers. By the end of the day, they reached a figure that was in the bottom of my father's acceptable range and the top of theirs. Tomorrow, my father is going to court to present the signed affidavits of all recipients.
And then it's done. And then, finally, my dad gets to mourn his brother.
Some of you may remember a few years ago, before I left here, my father lost his younger brother in a motorcycle accident. Since my uncle didn't have a will, my dad became the executor of his estate. I pitched in as much as I could, as did most of the rest of my family, but it fell entirely to my dad to deal with the legal aspects of distributing his brother's estate. There was also a difficult, clingy, rude and intolerable ex-girlfriend (of my uncle) and my dad's meth-addict youngest brother to deal with, prolonging the endeavor. In all, it took over a year and a half to settle my uncle's estate; a year and a half in which we were all so entangled in the legal aspects of an unforeseen death that we didn't have time to mourn the loss.
When all of this was done, my grandmother decided she wanted to sue the kid who hit my uncle for wrongful death. He'd made an improper lane change, and at the age of twenty, ended a man's life. Most of us thought this was punishment enough, but Grandma wanted to see him suffer. She wanted him to pay. I can't blame her--she'd lost her husband of 65 years and her son both in one year. She was 86 years old, and the number of people she loved was getting smaller every year. She wanted to feel like there was some justice in the world, she wanted to know that the man who'd killed her son would walk away with more than just an "Illegal Lane Change" charge. My father, being the executor, said okay.
Grandma had no idea what a wrongful death suit would entail, but my dad had an idea. Grandma didn't understand that se was sentencing her oldest son to a year and a half more of legal rigamarole, court appearances and meetings with insurance companies and lawyers. Grandma also didn't understand that this would require every member of the family to give a deposition quantifying what the loss of Ronald meant to us, so that the lawyer and insurance company could assign a dollar value to a man's life.
My dad gave a deposition, as did Grandma. The insurance company came back with a number that was, honestly, insulting. Now don't get me wrong, we don't need the money. No one in the family is going through with this because we need the money. The proceeds from liquidating Ron's estate covered all of his outstanding debts and costs. We all have careers and households of our own, and Grandma has a nice pension. We don't need the money. My father went through with this because he wanted his mother to feel there had been some justice done.
Now my turn came to give a deposition. The lawyer thought it would sway the insurance company if we had more "proof of loss". I have to say, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I didn't want to. I thought the lawsuit was wrong, I didn't want the proceeds, and I didn't want any more bureaucracy to get in the way of just missing my uncle. But I did it anyway. Because of my father's example, I did it for the family. I spent two hours answering a stranger's questions, quantifying the worth of a man's life. I cried a lot, even though I didn't want to cry in front of a stranger, and on tape for posterity to be played in front of a judge. I cried, and as I did, I cynically wondered if my tears would make this whole process go faster so that we could al just put it to rest.
Then the depositions were done, and my parents got a printed transcript of my answers. My mother congratulated me on how very sad I had sounded. And then we waited. Things went back and forth between the lawyer, the insurance company, and my dad. They argued about numbers.
The insurance company, I assume realizing they were not going to get away without paying us more than they wanted to, forwarded my father a letter from the kid. The kid who made the illegal lane change. The kid who, had he really wanted to, could have looked us up in the phone book at any time in the past two years. The kid who said on the police report that the death of my uncle was "fucking up my plans for tonight, man." The kid who now, apparently, wanted desperately to meet my father face to face to make amends. My father said no.
The insurance company made another offer, this time stating that if the offer was not accepted, we'd have to go to court. They also casually mentioned that should we choose to go to court over this, there would be over 200 photos of the accident they'd like to go over with my grandmother. My father said fuck you.
They lowballed us again. My father said, no really, fuck you.
Then they went into mediation. My father, the lawyer, and a representative from the insurance company sat in a room for ten hours and argued about numbers. By the end of the day, they reached a figure that was in the bottom of my father's acceptable range and the top of theirs. Tomorrow, my father is going to court to present the signed affidavits of all recipients.
And then it's done. And then, finally, my dad gets to mourn his brother.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
dogslife:
How awful. For everyone.
maike:
So sad, but I'm glad you could share this. A bitter irony is that the kid probably didn't really suffer from the settlement, aside from maybe a little difficulty in purchasing insurance in the future. The other unpleasentness is the demonstration that the gatekeepers will do everything in their power to subjugate our concept of rights under law. The professional concept and tactic of re-directing punishment onto the grieving is a sickness.