My father updated his will just before his death. I have absolutely no idea what he was trying to document.
I should have asked him years ago. But once he got sick, it was too late.
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Sudden poor eyesight was diagnosed as an aggressive brain tumour requiring surgery, radiation, chemotherapy and handfuls of medication. It bought us six months with him.
Doctors warned Dad to get his affairs in order. I thought he'd already done that. But there he was, re-writing his will in the final two or three months of his life. He talked about his wishes and told me he'd made notes, but none of it ever saw the light of day.
Two months before he died, a lawyer sent me a copy of the will, signed by Dad. But it didn't contain anything he'd talked about with me. My middle name was spelt incorrectly, and it carried my maiden name, which I hadn't used for more than a decade.
Once I pointed it out, the lawyer sent me an updated will a month later. I was the only person named besides the main beneficiary, his wife. I'd expected the will to look after other family members, so I felt confused, guilty and lucky in equal parts.
Before long, palliative carers visited around the clock. His treating doctors warned us about depression and personality changes, such as aggression. Executors were hastily changed in the weeks before he died.
In the good old days, Dad had always been open with my husband and me, proudly sharing financials over a bottle of wine as his business flourished and his property portfolio swelled into the many millions. He lived between our grand family home, the apartment above the office and the beach house with his wife, who was family to us.
![Writer Nina Hendy wishes she had discussed her father's estate planning while he was fit and healthy.](http://web.archive.org./web/20170519015719im_/https://www.fairfaxstatic.com.au/content/dam/images/g/w/5/1/k/i/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gw51sq.png/1495006150911.jpg)
We lost Dad in July 2015. He left behind a world of grief and about a million unanswered questions. He was 61.
A few months after he died, I needed answers. Our lawyer discovered Dad had been signing transfer documents that stripped his estate bare in the weeks before his death. This meant there was nothing in his estate to contest. All previous wills had been destroyed, lawyers told us.
It took a little over a year, but I finally got my inheritance. It was bittersweet, but time has healed a lot.
I wish I'd had the courage to asked Dad about his final wishes when he was well and happy. It would have prevented so much grief.
I never got around to it because it always felt disrespectful to ask. I didn't want to ruin his regular overnight stays with such melancholy talk. And he never got sick, still running a successful business, employing 30 staff. And honestly, it was an even harder proposition as his wealth grew.
If you're lucky enough to still have your parents, have the conversation. Whether you agree with their wishes or not, you're better off hearing it from them.
It's also better to have the discussion when your parents are compos mentis. After all, dementia became Australia's leading cause of death in 2013, according to Australian Bureau of Statistics.
I admire Sydney resident Susanne Gervay, who broached the topic with her parents, which she says bought her future peace. She also lost her father from a brain tumour a decade ago.
"My parents were very open to having the conversation, and there were no surprises," Gervay says.
"I can't believe the stories of misery that completely tear normal families apart. A friend of mine doesn't see her brother any more over a stupid ceramic object."
If the conversation is too hard for parents to have, take a look at a platform launched in Australia called Great Will, which enables people to leave a video message and digitally connect executors.
While a sobering conversation to have, I can assure you it's far more sobering to read about their wishes in a hastily-made will, and be left to wonder.