A significant family death can have unexpected consequences. Cooperation and respect may mark family dealings around the deathbed but morph into suspicion and selfishness once the funeral is over. Having seen this happen more than once, I want to reduce the likelihood of my own eventual departure having the same outcome.

There’s a natural sociological ingredient at work here: a death, particularly that of a matriarch or patriarch, changes the power structure within the family. This is less obvious where the deceased is survived by a single lifetime partner or a single child who’s both acknowledged and capable of managing the estate. Where that’s not the case, there can be a significant shift in relationships within the family to adapt to the new reality. For all that they can be painful, these changes are natural … but they’re not the core issue.

After a significant family death, conflict almost invariably centres on property. The most even-handed and prudent planning by the deceased is not immune. Where provisions of the will aren’t directly challenged, interpretation can be argued and trustees either besieged or ignored depending on the circumstances.

Some of us are more acquisitive than others, yet we all tend to expect that others share our own level or lack of mercenary interest. If my primary concern on Grandma’s death is her share portfolio, I’ll assume that every other family member’s focus is the same and I’ll meet protestations to the contrary with cynicism. Conversely, if I feel the loss of Grandma’s company and counsel more than any wealth can compensate, I’ll be horrified to see my cousin checking the hallmarks on her silverware – and she’ll probably see me as overly emotional.

I think this is the core reason so many significant family deaths have disagreeable outcomes. We expect that others will feel the same way we do about the situation, and we expect they’ll act as we ourselves feel we ought to act in response.

They don’t and they won’t.

So how do I minimise this clash of values? I’ve thought of a few constructive things I can do to make my departure less traumatic.

1. Write a comprehensive will. Comprehensive doesn’t mean long and complicated. It does mean I need to consider every scenario. What if I and all my children die at the same time? What if my partner dies before – or after – me?
2. Make a simple will. Apart from heirlooms I’ve inherited and those few items I know have personal meaning to family members, I should assume that what I leave behind will be converted into cash and divided up. I’m not going to burden my trustees with long schedules of itemised bequests.
3. Have a balanced will. The closer my will approximates natural family ties, the less likely it’ll be challenged. This doesn’t stop my leaving small bequests outside the immediate family, but I won’t leave my entire estate to the housekeeper.
4. Avoid surprises. I’ll share the will with the family or just give a general outline of its provisions. Either way I’m setting expectations in advance. And if I change my will I’ll tell the primary beneficiaries why.
5. Choose trustees carefully. Trustees must not only be trustworthy, the major beneficiaries must know them to be trustworthy. A good case can be made for appointing an independent trustee such as a solicitor.
6. Have documentation handy. I should keep a copy of my will, my birth certificate and other key papers such as bank account details and the name of my solicitor in an obvious place that’s known to family and friends. This can save a lot of panic and frustration.

Once I’ve gone I’ve gone; I can’t manage the execution of my estate from beyond the grave. I can’t even manage my funeral. With the latter point in mind I’ll lay out my funeral preferences but acknowledge that those who implement them may decide to make changes.

My eventual death – long may it be postponed – doesn’t have to be a burden. With a little effort I should be able to ease the path for those I leave behind.