‘Fire me out of a cannon.’ That’s what my dad used to joke, when I’d ask him what he wanted to happen after he died. Later, lying in a hospital bed, he had more serious instructions. He mentioned Elgar’s Nimrod and an Anglican service. I wrote it all down and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. ‘Good,’ he said. Then, ‘Shall we order some sausage rolls on Uber Eats?’
Seven months later, I was in our living room, laptop on my knee, relaying everything he’d said to a priest.
Nobody wants to organise their dad’s funeral but at least mine prepared me. He’d gone through his wishes, made sure I knew where he kept his passwords, the names of his pension providers and utility companies, his national insurance number – even which magazines he subscribed to. When he died, I felt ready to tackle the ‘sadmin’ – the post-bereavement paperwork.
The first few days were manageable. I was numbed by shock, but slipped my dad’s birth certificate and parents’ marriage certificate into a wallet, ready for the appointment to register his death; arranged to collect his will from the solicitor; completed the Government’s Tell Us Once form, which lets you report a death to most Government organisations in one go.
But as Tell Us Once does not inform private firms or banks, there were some companies I had to contact directly – each with their own processes. While some were straightforward (Octopus Energy), others were not. Dealing with his pension providers felt like fighting a Hydra. Fogged with grief, I found it difficult to keep track.
The worst experience was with Mum’s mobile network provider. As her contract was in Dad’s name, I asked about transferring it to her. I was asked to submit the death certificate and, once I did, received an automated message that the contract had been cancelled. I felt lightheaded with panic. How was my mum meant to navigate this period without a phone? Frantically calling a helpline, I was asked where the account holder was. ‘He’s dead,’ I snapped – and, after a mumbled apology, was informed that it wasn’t possible to transfer the contract.
'Fogged with grief, I found it difficult to keep track'
It didn’t help that every time I felt stuck, my instinct was to turn to my dad. He was the person who would read every contract before I signed; the person who’d help me with my tax return. Doing the sadmin without him was brutal: it reminded me I’d never be able to rely on his help again.
I understand that companies make you jump through hoops for a reason – nobody wants to be a fraud victim. But Marie Curie doesn’t think it needs to be this hard: since 2024, the charity has been campaigning to ‘make sadmin simple’, calling on companies to streamline and standardise the process.
Sadmin disrupts grieving. Your brain has little time to acknowledge your loss when it’s focused on finding a crucial bit of paper. Only now do I feel able to sit with the loss of my dad. The stress and anxiety has cleared, leaving cold, hard grief in its place.
One of Dad’s defining traits was irreverence. He spoke his mind (he told then Health Secretary Wes Streeting – visiting my dad’s ward – that the hospital food was ‘crap’). I think he’d be proud of me not only for getting through these last months, but for not accepting that this is ‘just how things are’. For sharing my experience. For questioning whether there could be a better way.