What’s a Death Midwife? Inside the Alternative Death Care Movement

From funeral cooperatives to green burials, there’s a kinder, gentler, less expensive way to die.

Jennifer_Luxton_Illustration_green_burial_death_dying.jpg
YES! illustration by Jennifer Luxton.

By 

Char Barrett walked into a quaint cafe in Seattle with business in mind.

Over the smell of coffee and freshly baked tarts, she was going to advise a client on how best to host a special event at her home, helping coordinate everything from the logistics of the ceremony, to how to dress the guest of honor. People might cry, they might laugh, and all attention would be on the person of the hour—only that person would never see, hear, or enjoy the festivities, because they would be dead.

001“People looked at me like I had two heads when I said, ‘Keep the body at home after the person dies,’” says Barrett, a Seattle-based funeral director and certified “death midwife.” “For families who want it, they should have the right to do it.”

Barrett has been practicing home funerals in the area since 2006 through her business, A Sacred Moment. In a home funeral service, the body is either brought back to the family from the place of death or stays at home if the person died there. The family then washes the body, in part to prepare it for viewing and in part as a ritual.

“It’s really the way we used to do it,” says Barrett.

To Barrett and many other professionals who are offering alternatives to the more status-oriented, profit-driven funeral industry, it’s time to rethink how we handle death. From consumer cooperatives that combat price gouging, to putting the power of choice back in the hands of the family, the city of Seattle has become a hub for alternative death care in the last two years, according to Barrett. The subculture of “deathxperts” want not only to empower their clients, but also potentially phase out their jobs altogether—a sort of death of the funeral director as we know it.

A History of Death

For the majority of human history, families handled arrangements for the deceased, from the time immediately after death, to burial or cremation. Until the advent of modern hospitals and health care at the turn of the last century, it was the norm for the old and sick to die at home surrounded by loved ones.

During the Civil War, embalming as a form of preservation found a foothold when Union soldier casualties needed to be transported from the sweltering South to mourning families in the North. Today, its pragmatic purpose is to temporarily stop decomposition for viewing and final goodbyes. However, the overwhelming majority of contemporary consumers don’t realize that, in most cases, it’s not legally required to bury a body, although special circumstances vary from state to state.

So why has probably every American funeral you’ve been to had an embalmed body in attendance?

As 20th century consumerism took hold and people were more likely to die in a hospital than at home, death receded from public consciousness. If a loved one were to die today, you would probably call and pay a funeral home to pick her up from wherever she took her last breath. They would wash her, embalm her, and dress her to your family’s liking. You would briefly visit her one last time at a mortuary or a chapel before she was either buried or burned. In all likelihood, her last bodily contact before disposition would be with a complete stranger.

In 1963, investigative journalist Jessica Mitford published “The American Way of Death,” an exposé of the country’s funeral-industrial complex, showing how it exploited the emotions of the living so it could up-sell unnecessary services and products, such as premium caskets and premier vaults. Federal Trade Commission regulations and consumer protections now prevent families from being swindled.

002Today, the funeral industry has become managed in part by aggregate companies. Mortuary giant Service Corporation International owns a large network of individually operated funeral homes and cemeteries, some of which exist on the same property as combination locations. If you imagine a standard funeral parlor and graveyard, you’re probably picturing an SCI-owned operation. Of the approximately 19,400 funeral homes in America, the publicly traded company owns about 2,300 homes, according to the National Funeral Director’s Association. Families and individuals privately own most of the rest.

“The reality is that if you can’t adapt to compete with SCI, you probably shouldn’t be in the market,” says Jeff Jorgenson, owner of Elemental Cremation and Burial, which prides itself in being Seattle’s “only green funeral home.” “But SCI is one of the best competitors you could ever hope for because they’re slow to change and they’re exceptionally resistant to anything progressive.”

Jorgenson started his business in 2012 with a special focus on carbon-neutral cremations and “green” embalming using eco-friendly preservatives. In every aspect of his operation, he works to be as environmentally minded as possible, an objective he sees lacking in most business models.

As SCI spent the 1960s through 1990s acquiring independent funeral homes to maximize profits, another organization was doing the exact opposite by forming a collective to prioritize consumer rights.

People’s Memorial Association is one of the nation’s only nonprofit organizations that pushes consumer freedom for end-of-life arrangements. Located in Seattle, the consumer membership-based group coordinates with 19 different death care providers across the state to offer fixed-price burial, cremation, and memorial services, as well as education and advocacy to encourage death care alternatives. Almost all of the funeral homes are privately owned and have a uniform price structure for PMA members, who contribute a one-time fee of $35. Barrett’s A Sacred Moment is one of PMA’s partners.

003“We negotiate contracts with the funeral homes so members walk in knowing exactly what they’re going to pay, and it’s usually a pretty significant discount from the usual prices,” says Nora Menkin, the managing funeral director of the Co-op Funeral Home. PMA founded it in 2007 when SCI decided to cancel arrangements with several of PMA’s partners. Now, PMA-contract homes offer full-service funerals for 65 percent less than the average local price, according to a 2014 price survey conducted by the PMA Education Fund.

“There’s no sales pressure, there’s no up-selling, and we make sure people get what they need,” says Menkin. “It’s about the consumer telling us what they want.”

Jorgenson’s Elemental Cremation and Burial works outside the umbrella of PMA’s service providers, but he still finds allies in Menkin and the Co-op Funeral Home.

“We’re in it to change an industry,” he says. “Just one of our voices out there is useless. There’s a kinder, gentler, less expensive way, and that’s what we’re all doing. It’s helping families in a new, more collaborative way.”

In Jorgenson’s opinion, you don’t even really need a funeral director.

“A funeral director is a wedding planner on a compressed time scale,” he says. “With the exception of the legality of filing a death certificate, a funeral director does the exact same things a wedding planner does: They make sure that the venue is available, that the flowers are ordered, the chaplain is there for the service, and that the guest of honor, be it the bride or the dead person, is there on time.”

In Washington state, some of the only legal requirements are preservation of the body 24 hours after death by way of embalming or refrigeration, obtaining a signed death certificate, and securing a permit for disposition of the deceased.

If the body will be kept at home for longer than 24 hours, preservation can be achieved by putting the body on dry ice for the duration of the viewing. Once the family has had enough time with the person, he or she will be removed for final disposition, which includes burial, cremation, or scientific donation.

“A funeral director that is truly in earnest with the services they’re providing these families would have the courage to say that,” says Barrett. “A family can do this themselves. They don’t need a licensed funeral director, especially in the 41 states where legally a family is able to sign their own death certificate.”

Even families who still want the guidance of a professional shouldn’t feel powerless.

“Too many people go to funeral homes and just want to be told what to do, because they haven’t been through it or they don’t want to think about it. That gives the funeral homes way more power than they really deserve,” says Menkin.

Ideally, a funeral home should educate consumers and encourage them to make informed decisions, she says, ultimately just acting as an agent to carry out their wishes.

The Process

For almost every modern funeral home preparation procedure, there is a more sustainable alternative. Dry ice can offset the need for embalming for brief viewing or shipping purposes. In instances where some form of embalming is necessary, such as a violently traumatic death, a mix of essential oils can replace the toxic mix of tinted formaldehyde. Even in the case of burial, biodegradable shrouds can eliminate the need for wood and metal caskets built, in theory, to last forever.

The distinctions apply to cemeteries too, which are divided into several camps as outlined by the Green Burial Council, the industry authority on sustainability. It assigns funeral homes, cemeteries, and suppliers a rating based on strict environmental impact standards, which scrutinize everything from embalming practices to casket material.

004There are traditional cemeteries with standard graves, monuments, mausoleums, and often water-intensive grass landscaping. The next step up are hybrid cemeteries, which still may have regular plots, but also offer burial options that don’t require concrete vaults, embalming, or standard caskets. Natural burial grounds, the middle rank, prohibit the use of vaults, traditional embalming techniques, and burial containers that aren’t made from natural or plant-derived materials; landscaping must incorporate native plants to harmonize with the local ecosystem, conserve energy, and minimize waste. Premier green burial occurs on conservation burial grounds, which in addition to meeting all of the above requirements, requires partnership with an established conservation organization and be dedicated to long-term environmental stewardship.

Natural and conservation burial grounds must limit the use and visibility of memorials and headstones so as to preserve the native visual landscape as much as possible. Some properties have switched to GPS-based plot markers—visitors wouldn’t know they’re in the middle of a cemetery unless they were looking for it.

As consumers become more comfortable with taking charge of their dead, there will be more room to introduce new methods of body disposition, such as alkaline hydrolodis, a type of liquid cremation, and body composting. Earlier this year, supporters successfully funded a Kickstarter campaign to start research on the Urban Death Project, which aims to turn decomposing bodies into nutrient-rich soil. According to Jorgenson, sustainable burial practices are still part of a boutique market, though that doesn’t change his bottom line.

“Death is difficult. People don’t really want to experiment with mom,” he says. “But I count myself fortunate to be out there as one of the people that offers these alternatives, should someone want them.”

“The co-op movement is bigger in other countries,” says Menkin, who attended the 2014 International Summit of Funeral Cooperatives in Quebec. “Canada has a large network of funeral cooperatives, but it’s a bit more like a traditional funeral industry, just with a different business model. They’re not about alternative forms of disposition or changing the norm. We’re kind of writing the book on this one.”

Eventually, those conversations may become commonplace.

“Now when I mention home funerals to people, they don’t think anything of it,” says Barrett. To her, the time has come for people to think outside the box—literally.

Complete Article HERE!

On mourning the death of a friend

BY AMY WRIGHT GLENN

Mourning
To stand with an open heart and offer your words of tribute is a powerful way of honoring your friend.

Amy, 

Yesterday, one of my closest friends suffered an unexpected and massive heart attack – and died. Mark was generous, funny, honest, and kind. He was a true friend.

The funeral is set for early next week and I’ve been asked to say a few words. Out of respect for Mark, I want to speak. I will speak. The problem is I can’t stop crying. I haven’t cried like this since I was a boy. I’m scared that I will break down while speaking at the funeral. 

Also, every time I think of Mark, I feel like somebody is squeezing my own chest. Is this normal?

Please advice me at this difficult time. I just can’t believe this is happening.

Thank you.

David, Jenkintown

Dear David,

Thank you for trusting me with your story. Losing a loved one in such a sudden way is heart-wrenching. It makes sense to feel confused and scared. It makes sense to cry.

While surely disconcerting, the current tension felt in your chest is a normal response to yesterday’s tragedy. The mind and body are deeply interwoven realities. What touches one, touches the other. By making room for the wellspring of grief within, the gripping ache of loss and shock will ease. Allow your emotions to flow. They will bring you back to your boyhood when your heart was vulnerable, open and sensitive. The anxious and painful knot in your chest will open as you open.

Now, let’s consider Mark’s funeral. You’ve been asked to speak in a public space set aside for grieving the death of a close friend. You’ve agreed to share your words at a time when your own grief feels overwhelming. How can you speak clearly in this situation? What if, as you fear, you cry in front of everyone?

001In her book, “Healing Through the Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear, and Despair,” psychotherapist Miriam Greenspan acknowledges that “loss, vulnerability, and violence” are woven into the very fabric of what it means to be human. Given this, our natural, healthy, and inevitable response is to feel “the dark emotions.” However, by calling grief, fear and despair “dark,” Greenspan doesn’t mean these feelings are bad. Rather, she reflects upon how our culture keeps these emotions in the dark, “shameful, secret, and unseen.” This is particularly true for men.

There isn’t a lot of room in our collective discourse for the public expression of a man’s grief. Crying in front of other men is still commonly viewed as a shameful defeat rather than a healthy and fully human form of expressing hurt or loss. Given this, many men grieve in private or they repress the emotions of sadness and focus on anger. For such men, the knots in their chest may never unravel. In fact, men are more likely than women to suffer from physical symptoms like headaches or backaches after the death of a loved one due to their struggle in making room for the body’s need to grieve.

These facts need not deflate your resolve. To stand with an open heart and offer your words of tribute is a powerful way of honoring your friend. You describe Mark as “honest” and “kind.” You know that such a friend deserves a funeral reflective of his best qualities. Yes, tears may come. Yes, your voice may shake. Yes, those gathered may see into the depth of your sadness. That can be scary. So be it. Better to speak with courage than to close down to the ebb and flow of emotion which nature intended us to feel at such difficult times.

May courage be yours as you walk to that podium David. May your words flow with honesty and kindness.

Finally, consider this insight offered by Lara Rogers Krawchuck, professor at the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Social Policy and Practice. Well known for her contributions to the further understanding of grief, loss and caregiving, she states: “Healing from a great loss comes a little bit at a time. It can look like a movement from shock or numbness to anguish to eventually being able to experience small moments of joy –- and eventually more joy than sorrow.”

Your friendship with Mark brought joy to your life. He was a “true friend” as you describe. Consider writing Mark a letter and express both the pain felt from his sudden death as well as the joy you’ve known in your shared friendship. Take a long drive and visit places meaningful to Mark. Or, go for a walk in nature and imagine Mark beside you. Talk to him. Express your sorrow and your gratitude.

In the processing of our individual stories of grief, we can experience the deep love found in universal human compassion. In your willingness to grieve Mark’s death, you will uncover qualities within your being that will allow you to become a source of refuge and strength for others. Of this, I am certain.

David, your story stays with me. I’m hopeful these reflections bring a healing balm of solace at this time. May you be open to the movement of healing as it manifests through you over the course of the next few days, weeks, months and years.

Peace,
Amy

Complete Article HERE!

I help terminally-ill parents leave stories behind for their children

Working with cancer patients makes me more determined to experience all that life has to offer, but sometimes the pain is more than I can bear

By Rachel Smith

Rachel Smith
‘I love to swim in the sea all year round – it makes me feel acutely alive.’

We all have an idea of how life is going to be, but mine has changed radically in the past seven years. I work on a project for children whose parents have cancer, helping them understand the illness and supporting them when their parent dies. I also support parents to communicate with children and, when the prognosis is not looking positive, I help them write books and letters for the family they are leaving behind.

I spend months, sometimes years, getting to know a family and then one day while going about my daily life I will receive a text, often early in the morning saying “he slipped away at 4am” or “Rachel, he’s gone”. Over the past seven years I have experienced so many losses in my work. I try to remain emotionally separate, but I am human, a compassionate human, and it hurts every time. Often I check my work phone just before doing the school run. I drive my two young children to school and then cry as I go on to work. It is not the same gut-wrenching loss as that of a personal loved one, but silent tears in the knowledge that a family’s world has shattered.

As I arrive in work, all the normal things are happening. People in the kitchen are talking about diets, referrals for new families are coming in and I am trying to fathom how I can fit a funeral into my week if the family need me to attend. I often get told by families that I’m the one who remained real throughout everything, and I don’t want to let them down at the end.

When working in end-of-life care the level of intimacy with someone changes completely. Time becomes the most precious commodity and communication is honest. To be able to give someone the chance to convey their dreams is an honour, but it takes its toll.

Recently, a gentleman I worked with died. I had known his family for six years, Ifilmed his eulogy and hours of footage for his family. The magnitude of life and death suddenly hit me. I felt I had reached a limit of sadness and could not take any more. I needed time to think, to feel alive again and to be surrounded by life.

In this job there is no place for burnt-out heroes or martyrs. We all have a limit and I felt like an empty cup. I find that to cope I need to strip life back: I want to feel the world around me, the rain falling on my face and be in places of natural beauty. I need to be with people I love, who understand my job without needing to talk about it. Talking is exactly what I don’t want to do; I want to laugh and be outside. I love to swim in the sea all year round – it makes me feel acutely alive.

When recording books with people a common plea I hear is “I have no regrets, I just wish I had more time”. So I create time in my own life; I breathe, love, hug and do all those clichéd things so that I can go back into work and be useful again. I refill my cup. I think that when working in such a profession, at times we need to bend the boundaries to be human and to understand that is what people need. It is ok to be hurt and show hurt, to put your hands up and say I need a break, I need to go and breathe for a while.

To finish, I shall leave you with words by Fiona, who wrote this for her three children two weeks before she died.

“You are meant to be here. I believe that although I wanted to be here and share your life: the ups and the downs. God needs me elsewhere and you have to stay on Earth. Be a good friend and surround yourself with good friends. You don’t need to be the most popular one, the most strong or the most clever. But always be a good friend to those around you.”

Complete Article HERE!

Dollhouse Graves

By By Charlie Hintz

These grave markers are as sad as they are sweet. These dollhouses were built by grieving parents for their beloved daughters, complete with favorite toys and other significant items. Though they are plagued by vandalism through the years, they continue to be kept up and restored when need be.

Dorothy Marie Harvey (1926-1931)

Dorothy Marie Harvey and her family were passing through Medina, Tennessee on their way North to find work. When Dorothy got measles and died, the townfolk helped her family bury her in Hope Hill Cemetery.

Her parents left her behind and continued on.

Vivian Mae Allison (1894-1899)

The dollhouse of Vivian Mae Allison is located in the Connersville City Cemetery in Connersville, Indiana.

Lova Cline (1902-1908)

Lova Cline’s dollhouse memorial is in the Arlington East Hill Cemetery in Arlington, Indiana.

Nadine Earles (1929-1933)

The grave of Nadine Earles is in the Oakwood Cemetery in Lanett, Alabama.

The story goes that Nadine wanted a dollhouse for Christmas. Since she died just before the holiday, her parents built her a dollhouse on her grave and filled it with her toys and personal belongings.

Complete Article HERE!

My Dog’s Activity Tracker Is Letting Me Watch Her Die

By 

whistlegps

I’M HOLDING A thick wad of paper towels against my dog’s hip, shushing her and patting her head. I’m fairly timid at first, worried that pressing against her burst cyst could hurt her. But instead of yelping, she just stares at me with pleading “pet me more” eyes and settles her chin against my free hand. I gently, and then more firmly, push into the spot of wet, matted fur where it seems one of her various growths has burst. The liquid isn’t pussy or filmy. It’s just clear, like water. But it’s the third time in as many days that I’ve found her with a soaked spot, sort of moping around while it leaks. I’m just hoping it’s not urine, because that would mean the end is nearer than I want it to be.

Meanwhile, the canine fitness tracker she’s wearing—a coin-sized silver disc that attaches to her collar—reports everything is going great. This can’t be great, right?

I’ve been living away from Gypsy (that is to say, out of my parents’ home) for 10 years now. But when I moved abroad I decided: I need to be able to know as much about my pup as possible, even in my absence. Second-hand reports weren’t enough. So, I decided to strap an activity reader to her and watch the cold, hard data pour in.

I know that everyone says they love their dog, but I really love my dog. My family adopted Gypsy (also known as Roo, Roo Roo, Ooo Roo, Jibba, or Jibba Jabba) when I was in high school—my mom shocked us all when she brought home an intensely affectionate Border Collie-Australian Shepherd mix who was terrified of fireworks and bicycles and loved ice cubes. She is, to be totally honest, the best dog.

Gypsy
Gypsy

When I went to college, I lived close enough that I could see Gypsy every few months. After graduation, I moved a mere 45 minutes away and saw my dog even more often. But life got busier: My parents didn’t bring her on trips to see me (she was getting older, getting into the car became more difficult), and I didn’t have as much time to drive home. When I moved to Seattle, about four and a half hours away, I saw her even less. And then, when I moved to the Caribbean, it hit me: Gypsy might die while I’m gone. I might not get a call, telling me to come say goodbye, because it would be impossible.

I was home a few months ago, visiting my family—and my dog. She’s always had the manic energy of her breed, coupled with an endearing sweetness; she’s seemed like a puppy since the day she came home. But I finally noticed it: She had cysts, her fur was getting matted more easily. Her eyes were a little cloudier and didn’t follow you as well. Her back legs struggled to push her up on the hardwood floors; she would slide a bit, sometimes fall down. She definitely couldn’t sprint like she used to anymore. She was old.

That’s when I decided that if I couldn’t be around physically for Gypsy’s last months, I would be around digitally. I figured if I couldn’t actually be with her, I would use technology to… “be” with her. So I got a Fitbit for my dog.

Not actually a Fitbit, but a Whistle, a $99 canine activity tracker which you often hear described by people who own one as “the Fitbit for dogs.” Whistle has a motion sensor and a GPS sensor, so you can see how much exercise and rest your dog is getting. You can include additional info, like how much she’s eating. Within the app, you can attach photos you’ve taken.

activity appAt first, it was fun—adorable, even! I could see how active and playful Gypsy was compared to other dogs similar to her. I could see when she was out on a walk, and how much sleep she was getting. Whistle told me that she had an 82 percent success rate of hitting her goals (75 out of 91 days) and her best streak for doing so was a whopping 20 days. In fact, she’s better at meeting her activity goals than most dogs like her, so says Whistle. (She would get an average of 84 minutes of activity a day—similar dogs apparently get around 59.)

I watched from abroad as Gypsy hit her daily quota for activity and zipped past her exercise requirements. I noted to myself that it seemed like she wasn’t getting as much sleep as a dog her age and size should (a stat Whistle helps calculate), but hey, too little sleep was surely a sign she was more energetic and less lethargic! A good thing! Each evening, an alert would roll in, “Gypsy hit her goal!” and I felt soothed, comforted: She was old, but was doing fine.

As it turns out, she was only sort of “technically” doing fine. After moving back to the U.S., I made a trip to visit to my parents. While there, I would get Whistle alerts while sitting in the same room as Roo. Her activity report rolls in while I listen to her pant for no reason, or I get her sleep status while her paws struggle against the hardwood floors.

It’s not that Whistle is inaccurate—hardly. It’s just that when you’re not there, actually seeing your dog, the reports don’t spell out the entirety of what’s happening. Sure, she still meets her activity goals, but Whistle doesn’t record how she slipped on a stair. I can see that she’s still eating her dinner, which is fantastic, but the device can’t show me how confused and panicked she seems when she wakes up—all very obvious differences now that, despite her relative health, are startling. I was somewhat lured into thinking everything was fine, that I would come home to my dog, the ageless wonder. Because on paper (or, screen, rather), that’s what I’d convinced myself she was.

To be honest though, when I jump out and ignore the day-to-day reports and look at Whistle’s overall data, I activity app2can see the decline—which is such a strange thing to see defined in an app. Usually, these sorts of services are about living better: We want to lose weight or monitor our heart rates, and Fitbits, Fuelbands, and Apple Watches give us shiny charts and graphs so we can analyze ourselves and do so. But what about when a tracker isn’t showing that you’re getting better—what if it says you’re getting worse? If someone were to wear one of these things forever, they’d notice a change from improving their body to watching it die.

Now, I get nervous that I’ll see her activity plummet—maybe stop completely. That I’ll have a chart that shows me the moment she gave up, or even the moment she died.

Yesterday, we took Gypsy back to the vet to inspect her cysts. The vet told us, though, that it looks like there’s a lot of urine in her fur, too—and that she’s becoming incontinent. Which means, of course, that her health is worse than we thought. I went and bought pads to put underneath her beds, gave her a thorough bath, and took her for a walk. And despite the vet’s warning, she tugged at the leash, wanting to go faster, jumping back and forth (albeit it a little feebly) like a dog half her age.

Whistle

I’m about to leave and move away again. I know it’s even more possible I won’t see Roo after this. So I figured it’s time to decide: Do I leave the Whistle on and continue to track her health, even if that means being able to zoom out on the data and literally watch her die? Even though it’s scary and sad (because you know, death is scary and sad), I want to. When I can’t physically be there to pet her while she falls asleep or take her for a walk, I can log in and see she’s resting, or that she just had a particularly active ten minutes.

I know no amount of trackers and technology will keep her alive, but those push notifications remain a comfort. Every time Gypsy meets her activity goal, that alert says that even though she’s old and even though she’s probably dying, she’s still my dog and she’s still out there, living as much and as best as she can. The reality isn’t as easy to parse as a few colorful pixels—she has good days and bad days, sometimes it’s clear she’s struggling and other times she acts like she’ll live another ten years. The tiny window Whistle gives me isn’t the whole story, but it’s a little piece of it, and if I’m going to be gone for the end of Gypsy’s story, then I’ll take whatever part of it I can.

Complete Article HERE!

Officials: Connecticut is most expensive place to die in US

Expensive To Die

Celebrities and business tycoons with multimillion-dollar estates in Connecticut are getting some unwelcome news: Their state has become the most expensive place to die in the U.S. because of hefty new fees for settling estates, according to state officials.

In fact, probate officials are warning that some invoices they will be sending out shortly could top $100,000 or even $1 million in a few cases, when the maximum fee in the past was $12,500.

The fees took effect July 1 as part of the new state budget approved by Democratic Gov. Dannel P. Malloy and the Democrat-controlled legislature. They’re also retroactive to all deaths dating back to Jan. 1.

The budget cut all state government funding to the probate court system, a total of $32 million over two years. To make up for the loss of that money, Malloy and lawmakers eliminated the $12,500 cap on probate court fees and doubled the fee on estates worth more than $2 million to 0.5 percent of the value. They also increased fees for most probate court filings from $150 to $225.

“It’s outrageous,” said Westport attorney Amy Day. “We always had a cap on probate fees of $12,500. Now it’s not going to be unusual for people to pay upward of $50,000.”

The probate court system surveyed all 50 states and determined that the 0.5 percent fee on the value of estates of at least $2 million was the highest in the country, surpassing the 0.4 percent fee charged by both New Jersey and North Carolina, said Vincent Russo, a spokesman for the state probate court system. New Jersey also has no cap on probate fees, while North Carolina has a maximum fee of $6,000, he said.

Russo said many states don’t charge fees based on total estate value. He said it was difficult to determine which states have the least expensive probate costs because of differences in law and policy.

The very wealthy often protect their assets by forming trusts, which helps them avoid some probate costs.

Connecticut also has an estate tax on all estates worth more than $2 million, with rates ranging from 7.2 percent to 12 percent.

Malloy spokesman Devon Puglia said Tuesday that the probate fee increases were among difficult budget decisions that had to be made this year.

Judge Paul Knierim, Connecticut’s probate court administrator, said if the new fees were applied last year, two estates worth more than $200 million apiece would have paid more than $1 million in probate costs and about a dozen worth over $20 million would have paid more than $100,000.

“I think the fundamental problem is that the change in decedents’ estate fees imposes the burden of running the probate court system on a very small portion of the population,” Knierim said.

Knierim and some state lawmakers say they plan to urge the General Assembly next year to dump the new fees and go back to the old system.

Vincent Carissimi, a Philadelphia lawyer who is executor of his uncle’s estate in Westport, Connecticut, said the new fees will increase probate costs for the estate by about $2,000, bringing the total to over $8,000.

“You usually expect to pay a nominal or moderate fee but you don’t expect to get soaked,” Carissimi said. “The most surprising thing is it’s a function of the funding being cut. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I’ve never heard a state not providing funding to its courts.”
Complete Article HERE!

Do kids belong at funerals?