Frustration

As most people know, a death generates a lot of paperwork—there's probate, taxes, insurance, banks, agents and creditors to deal with. I can happily report that almost everyone I've spoken to about my mother's death has been sympathetic, helpful and professional. All except one large insurance company.

Here's a little of the frustration that I've dealt with this week. I understand the safeguards of the insurance company's policy, but the attitude and lack of compassion still sucked.

My mom was great at keeping records. She could tell you who sent Christmas cards in 1972; she could you tell the cost of redecorating the living room in 1987 (yeah, do the math...the good furniture always comes right after the last kid (or only kid in my family's case) goes to college); and she could tell you how many times she went to a doctor in 1993. I filled about a dozen boxes with ancient lists and papers from her apartment. What I couldn't find however was a current tenant's insurance policy. Who needs a 2008 insurance policy anyway? It could be taking valuable space away from a 1954 church bulletin.

I did find a recent but expired policy, and didn't think that she had changed insurance companies. After calling the listed agent, being told to call different numbers twice, being transferred twice, and holding for over thirty minutes, this is part of the conversation I had after explaining that I didn't have a current policy number.

"Mr. Farrington, I can't tell you anything about you mother's policy unless you send me a copy of her death certificate and will or probate order."

"You can't even tell me if she had a current policy?" I asked.

"No, I can't."

"Can I fax you the death certificate and will?"

"You can." And she gave me her fax number and told me to write her name in large letters on the cover page.

"Should I write the policy number on there too?" I asked.

"If you have it."

Ah ha! Maybe I'd caught her.

"I don't have it," I said. "You do."

"I can't give you that information without...." Blah, blah, blah. The same standard answer.

"But she does have a current policy?" I asked.

"I can't tell you that."

"If she did have a current policy, could it be expiring soon?"

She paused and I could hear the wheels turning in her head. She was trying to stay ahead of me, but my wheels were turning faster.

"It could be." she said. "You have to send me those documents. Then I'll send you the form to properly cancel the policy."

"What if I just don't do anything and ignore any renewal notice?" I asked.

"Then you risk that the policy could be canceled for lack of payment."

"But that's what I want. I want the policy to be canceled," I answered.

"Nonpayment could damage your mother's credit score."

Really? Was that her best argument?

I reminded the woman that my mother had died and added that I didn't really care about her credit score. Again, she told me to fax the death certificate and will. Then she asked the cutest question of all.

"Would you care to participate in a customer satisfaction survey?"

"I don't think so," I answered. "But this call has been recorded for quality assurance. Thank you for your time."