My Dad was organised. I mean, really organised. Almost – dare I say it – to a compulsive degree. A neat and tidy man in himself – how he dressed, trimmed his beard, combed his hair – this neatness was reflected throughout his life. Any papers on his desk would be arranged in a sharp grid of perfectly aligned piles; any loose change would be stacked in strict descending order of coin size; files labelled and neatly settled in a filing cabinet; and the shed and garage would be as ordered as an operating theatre. Indeed, having worked in the healthcare sector for his whole career, perhaps the order and organisation he applied to his whole life was influenced by the discipline needed in hospitals? Hospitals like the one in Nottingham where he started his working life, and met Mum.

It turns out he was as organised in death as he was in life. And it’s an absolute blessing.

When Dad died, he and Mum were in Shropshire for a few days’ holiday. I went up there immediately to be with Mum, as did some friends of theirs, and started handling the inevitable administration. I took Mum back home a couple of days later, and within 10 minutes of getting home she opened one of the above-mentioned filing cabinets, pulled this out and handed it to me. “Dad filled this out a few weeks ago. Should make things a bit easier”.

I’ll be honest, it made me cry. It was such a perfect representation of everything he was. Always considerate of others, helpful, organised, prepared. I flicked through it to see his familiar handwriting listing every detail of mum and dad’s life admin: bank accounts, credit cards, direct debits, insurance (house/contents/car/life), utilities, solicitors, financial advisor…the lot. It was both wonderful and crushingly sad.

It’s a lesson for me in thinking about those you leave behind when you die. Why make a difficult time even more horrendous for loved ones? In organising your affairs, in detailing everything that they’ll need to know about and access once you’ve gone, you’re allowing people to grieve for your loss, and move forward positively, rather than start a stressful period of navigating endless administration and bureaucracy.

As my Mum said in a text message yesterday: “After 52 years of being a little frustrated at Dad’s fussy ways of keeping everything in order, I am so grateful to him now.”

The only thing we’ve found that Dad failed to tell us has been the code to unlock his iPhone. But, as my brother pointed out yesterday, as “he used it more often as a torch than a phone” that’s probably not the biggest issue!

You can buy a copy of the book above here. Making a will is also really important. There’s a basic guide from the Government here, and plenty of low-cost online services to help you make a legally-binding will. And if you’re over 55 years old, Cancer Research UK even offers a free will writing service. Find out more here.

I know none of us wants to think about dying but, believe me, having your affairs in neat and tidy order makes a real difference to the loved ones you leave.

Don’t delay. And thanks, Dad.

Mark x

 (This is the part of a series of lessons I’ve learnt from my Dad. Find the backstory here, and more lessons can be found here.)