Early in April, my ex-husband (of 26+ years), passed away in hospice from organ failure due to his alcoholism. I had known for more than a decade I was his executor, and I was his power of attorney, so I was involved as soon as he entered hospice. What I really was not prepared for was the extent of his mental health decline over the last several years.

We had always had an unusual relationship. There was certainly plenty of contentiousness, and there would be many exchanges where I would have to say, “I’m done talking about this,” because he would be contrary on his perspective and expect me to think as he did, or act in a manner he wanted. He never understood (accepted?) my remarriage, and my having more children. There was a lot of conflict, and at various points, I’d have to restrict how he could contact me. For example, when he was drinking, he wanted to call at 2 in the morning, so he wasn’t allowed to call the home phone anymore. While he was drinking, he would lambast me on Facebook, so he was blocked from posting. We communicated primarily through messenger or text, as calls got increasingly difficult as his condition progressed. But, he trusted me. That was a constant. He always trusted me to do right by him, and by our kids.

I always sought to keep him in the loop regarding his children. I informed him of life successes they were facing, and challenges when those hit. I always supported him finding someone else to love and encouraged him to start new relationships (or rebuild past ones, like his relationship with Melissa). I accepted that I would be his executor because I didn’t want to place that burden on our grieving children.

Unfortunately, his affairs were a mess. There was no organization for paperwork, for record keeping, for financial statements and bills. Almost all the bills were overdue. More critically, each time one of his loved ones passed away (like his mother, or his stepfather, or his uncle went into care), he brought their stuff into his house. He didn’t sort it and go through it, he kept it. He hoarded it. He shopped Facebook marketplace, and Craigslist, and estate sales. He kept bringing more and more things into his home.

When we walked into his house for the first time there were barely paths accessible to navigate through the piles and piles of stuff. There was evidence the pets he’d had were not properly cared for. There was everything you would expect to see if you’d watched an episode or two of Hoarders. I walked in, sat down, and started sobbing. I wasn’t sobbing over my grief for his loss – I was sobbing for the degree of work I knew lay ahead of me.

I’ve done everything I can to prepare my documents, my legal forms, and yes, even my home, for when I die. I don’t want to foist any additional burden onto my loved ones. I have a tough time wrapping my head around people who refuse to acknowledge we are all mortal. Death comes for us all. Show consideration to your loved ones and be prepared.

If I’m off the radar for a month or two, it’s because we’re making repeated trips to Kansas to clean out trash, organize the home for sale, and bring home whatever treasures the kids may want. I couldn’t have done anything to help my ex-husband prepare, but I could have been more mindful of his deterioration, and I feel sad that I was so clueless. I’m also angry; angry he got to this state, angry he drank his life away, angry he just gave up. I know it will be some time to sort through all that.

Have your affairs in order, people.