When Chantal's (46) father passed away, she thought the tears would be the hardest part. But no, her days were mostly spent on hold, tracking down customer numbers, and filling out forms.
“My father was a man of order and routine. His socks were neatly organized by color, and his paperwork was tidily filed in folders. Or so we thought. When he passed away, it felt like I had to wrap up his legacy neatly. Only, that legacy turned out to be mostly piles of paper, hold music, and 'press 1 for customer service'.
The first week was grief. The second week, the mail started. No longer the condolence cards, but the blue envelopes and policy letters. Every company—from the newspaper to the health insurance—had to be informed. And that was the beginning of a new daily task.
I still see myself sitting at the kitchen table: folders in front of me, his phone next to me, notepad at hand. Three hours later, I had canceled exactly one subscription. The rest of the time? Waiting. First ten minutes in the queue. Then the question: 'What's the customer number?' Of course, it was in an email I couldn't open. When I explained why, I was transferred. Waiting again. New staff, same routine: 'Sorry ma’am, without that information, I can't help you.'
It felt like playing a game of snakes and ladders, but with no finish line. Facebook needed a death certificate, the housing association wanted an inheritance declaration, the notary asked again for a list of his accounts (which I couldn't access). Everything was blocked by something I didn't yet have.
And meanwhile, I just wanted to grieve. But every time I tried to open a box of photos, the phone rang: ‘Good afternoon, you’re speaking with the accounts department. You have an outstanding invoice with us.’ You guessed it: customer number, policy number, contract number. Everything but a bit of human warmth.
Most of the staff were genuinely kind. They understood my situation. But yes, without a checkbox in their system, they couldn't do anything. The system governs, the person waits. And meanwhile, I spent hours leafing through dad's folders, which turned out to be less orderly than his sock drawer.
After a few weeks of calls, emails, and sending letters, it was finally sorted. I felt more drained than relieved. Mourning takes energy, but the bureaucracy around it really drained me.
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The emotional weight after a death is already heavy enough. The administrative hassle shouldn't be an extra obstacle. A digital overview can save your survivors weeks of frustration and waiting. With a service like Veault, you create a clear and complete overview of all practical matters, from customer numbers to contracts. So you pass on not a scavenger hunt, but a flying start, giving your loved ones time for what truly matters.
