Front Page Β· Family Desk
Group Chat Still Named Mum's 70th π, Repurposed For Estate Split
Forty-eight hours after the funeral, the party-planning group is already splitting the assets, one pinned spreadsheet at a time.
The family group chat is still called Mum's 70th π. It was made in May, for the party. Forty-eight hours after the funeral, it is being used for something else: splitting up everything she owned.
Whoever helps me move gets it," she wrote in 2019. Nobody helped her move. He forwarded it anyway.
The party gifs are gone, and so is the countdown sticker. In their place sits a pinned message, an itemised list of everything she owned, sorted by value. Three siblings are already arguing about the sort order.
The good sideboard went to the eldest. He settled it by quoting her: a message from 2019 that read "whoever helps me move gets it." Nobody had actually helped her move, a fact he raised himself, twice, before anyone else could. Nobody argued with a dead woman's texts.
Her stairlift is on the list too, condition marked "gently used." So is the commode chair, delivered nine days before she died. The youngest emptied her urine from it every morning for those nine days. He then invoiced the estate forty euros a day for "nursing care," backdated to the delivery date. The listing still calls the chair "as new."
None of it is on the spreadsheet. His invoice isn't either, not yet. He is still deciding whether to bill the estate or bill his sister directly. She flew in for the funeral and left before the toasts.
Someone still types into the group chat out of habit, then stops before sending. It isn't grief. Whoever asks a question in there ends up doing the admin, and nobody wants to go first.
The solicitor's office has since added everyone to something called the Estate Admin Portal. It has tasks, and a bar that fills in as they are finished. The sideboard was settled in the group chat months ago; in the Portal, it still shows zero, marked Unresolved.
Every Monday the Portal sends a cheerful reminder about it: "Just checking in on Sideboard!" No one has replied, and no one needs to.
This newspaper's obituary desk uses the same kind of software to route its corrections. One ticket sat unresolved for weeks before anyone noticed the deceased was, in fact, still alive. We marked it complete regardless.