The Revised Uniform Fiduciary Access to Digital Assets Act

denver elder law

Siennese Door

This is an important development regarding the Uniform Law Commission’s Uniform Fiduciary Access to Digital Assets Act (UFADAA).  I learned that there is a new and revised version of the uniform law which has in the last few days been approved by the ULC.  It is known as the Revised Uniform Fiduciary Access to Digital Assets Act (2015).  In my last post on this topic in May, I described the short-lived history of HB 15-1189, the UFADAA in the Colorado legislature.

In June, yours truly was interviewed, along with Connie Smith of Fairfield & Woods, for the article “Assembling the Digital Legacy” which appeared in Law Week Colorado.  The article, written by Doug Chartier (sorry, no link as it is paid subscription only), described the ever changing landscape of identifying and managing digital assets for the living (as agent, conservator or trustee) or for the deceased (as personal representative).  The article reads a bit like an obituary for the UFADAA, which was enthusiastically presented in nearly two dozen state legislatures but met stiff opposition from diverse groups including (in Colorado) the Colorado Bankers Association and the ACLU.  Only one state has adopted the UFADAA so far and in most states where the legislation was introduced the UFADAA has already been rejected. This over what is broadly termed as “third party privacy concerns.”  The basic concern would be, to give one example, for those with whom the digital asset owner would have communicated – say via email, and whose private and protected information would be disclosed to a fiduciary acting on behalf of another (as defined in the UFADAA, but generally an agent under a POA, a personal representative of an estate and so forth) without the third party’s knowledge or consent.  It isn’t just about reading mail anymore, or emails for that matter!

Here’s a recent article in Forbes magazine about how forgetting to make plans about digital assets like social media can create post-mortem lawsuits.  One of the spot-on observations made in the article was about the difficulties in transferring digital assets and its potential to create unplanned business succession challenges as well as ongoing estate planning difficulties.  Getting back to the Law Week article, both Connie Smith and I agreed that online services for storage of passwords, usernames and other credentials for online accounts (digital assets, broadly defined) are problematic because of the concentration of personal data.  I give my estate planning clients an organizational “letter of instruction” which has a page for these online accounts and other digital assets. At this time I think the best way to maintain this information is in paper format, which can be easily updated on a personal computer and printed out periodically.  And no, you shouldn’t call the document “my online accounts and how to access them,” but maybe come up with something more creative!

In the meantime, don’t forget about making plans for those digital assets.  Here’s a helpful article from the American Bar Association on this topic.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to link to the revised version of the UFADAA on the Uniform Law Commisioner’s website – it does not yet appear to be available there.  I have a word version of the revised UFADAA, but haven’t had the chance to read it while comparing its previous version.  I’m sure that will be a topic of a future blog post. . . . !

©Barbara Cashman  2015   www.DenverElderLaw.org

The Continuing Adventures of the Psychopomp: Grief As Psychopomp

Natural Beauty

Natural Beauty

This post is dedicated to my dear cousin, who recently lost his beloved wife of forty years.

Yes, this is another installment in my series, but it wasn’t quite planned that way. . . .   After traveling to the funeral out of town, I thought more about this psychopomp topic and thought about the other side of death, what the mourners, those grieving face in going on without their loved one.  Life as they know it, as my cousin recently observed “is over.” What then remains is a future that requires the survivors to reimagine their lives, the mourners must now construct their lives without the active participation of the one they love.  Here it strikes me that grief is also a doorway, a threshold and . . . .a psychopomp in some form because it will take us to that new world, often an unimagined life.  Here is where the grief, the being and doing of it – ready or not! – does transport us to a new and unfamiliar terrain of our lives, a new way of living.

Whether we believe in an afterlife is often beside the point for many of us – grief invites us to feel and to be with it and to imagine what our life could or might look like without that person because, while we are imagining, we can’t believe or disbelieve. It strikes me that the loss, the sense of shock that often accompanies a death of a loved one that often causes a sense that things are not quite real or even surreal, occurs in both the event itself as well as our reaction to it.

So grief too, is often itself a kind of death, a death of the known and familiar existence, a death of identity relative to the loved one.  I wonder – might this prepare us (the survivors, the mourners) somehow also for our own eventual demise?   This makes me think of some of the emotional responses to grieving, the activity of grieving and how we feel it in our bodies.  Is grief capable in some way of turning us inside out?  The death of the loved one causes some kind of corresponding death in us as well.  We simply cannot go on as before.  But what was the life before, and how did we think of it and experience it?   I think of Tom Cheetham’s book: All the World an Icon: Henry Corbin and the Angelic Function of Beings (North Atlantic: 2012) and his observation:

  When we can give up a life lived in pursuit of “objective Truth,” then the world fills out, comes alive and comes toward us in its freedom . . . “interiorization” is . . .  a matter of entering, passing into the interior and, in passing into the interior of finding oneself, paradoxically outside. . . “ 

Cheetham at 185.

The movement here of grief, away from life as it was previously known (I don’t think it’s a huge stretch to liken it to the “objective Truth” reference above), can be precipitated by the “inside-out” or “upside-down” feeling of the lives after profound loss.  In addition, our lives may have an aspect of feeling that is immanent or transcendent, and perhaps both at different times.  I will contrast them here:

          Immanent – is defined as being within the limits of possible knowledge, inherent, remaining within; and

          Transcendent – going beyond the limits of ordinary experience, greater than what is usual.

We typically focus on the transcendent here, as in the moving beyond, toward considering the possibility – because we are left with no real alternative – that the deceased is gone but there is still meaning in their existence, that there is some felt meaning beyond us in our physical presence.

Here, the invitation, the movement into grief can be a means of poiesis.  Poiesis means “to make” in ancient Greek.  This kind of work reconciles our imaginal activity (outside of belief, it is by nature supra-rational) with the stuff and matter of our existence, and this is done within the construct of time.  And yes, I could go off on a tangent about poiesis, but I will resist the temptation.  This kind of work, it strikes me, is a destruction of the idol of time (akin to that “objective Truth” mentioned above) as we knew it, a life as we expected it to be.  I have previously referred to the work of Massimo Cacciari, the Italian philosopher and politician who wrote:

       The greatest idolatry is the cult of the has-been, of the irredeemable it-was.  Against it, the

living raise their cry-song to the Living.  Only at this point – in the moment of song – can they truly

call themselves living; prior to this they were a succession of moments destined to death, born to die.

The Necessary Angel, at 51 (SUNY Press: 1994)(M. Vatter, transl.)

Cacciari was not writing about grief in that quote, but it struck me that in his term “chronolatry” there is the possibility of grief, of grieving for what was and never will be again, which is also that which allows us to fully feel the present and its fullness or emptiness  – whether we want to feel it, or not.  And so, the “idol” or fixed idea of the life that was known, that was lived with the person now deceased, is not broken or destroyed but rather it is transcended to a new meaning, a bigger one necessitated by that deceased person no longer actively participating (or seeming to participate) in the mourner’s life.  I am not saying that this is what grief is, while I find all the writings about grief very helpful in many respects, I also find them constraining and unhelpful to the extent they attempt to identify some “grief process” which all of us must “go through” in order to come out the other side or to get on with our lives.  Grief is simply too big to be left to the psychologists alone to develop such a typology or taxonomy!

Grief as a psychopomp here is a threshold, an invitation to cross over from that life that was – the idol that is only a physical shell, to arrive at an icon that invites a re-imagining of new life with a bigger (or smaller) meaning, which is often one that moves into the meaning of transcending.  Beyond the shell of the idol, the icon glows with possibility, it represent a threshold where the can be an unfolding into the future.  Grief here, is the invitation, the psychopomp that is uninvited and unfamiliar – yet the one who cannot be ignored.  What is left is somehow beyond our reach, but imaginable and comes to us, moves toward us even in the depth of our despair.

 ©Barbara Cashman  2015   www.DenverElderLaw.org

 

The Continuing Adventures of the Psychopomp: What is the Vocation of a Psychopomp?

Inside the Rocca Majore

Inside the Rocca Maggiore

This is the first of a series of posts about our death-denying and death-phobic culture and the “usefulness” of a psychopomp as a means of understanding the meaning behind the denial and the denial of meaning.  If using the psychopomp seems like an odd choice for such a journey, please bear with me and know that these posts will be concerned with the meaning that is behind the fear and the denial.

To review briefly, a psychopomp is a conductor or guide of the dead to the world beyond this place.  In this respect, the purpose of the psychopomp is to accompany and sometimes convince a person who has died to let go of the familiar of this world – a person’s identity, expectations, possessions (physical and non-physical), status and many other types of “evidence” of our existence here in the life one has grown accustomed to living.  Just as most of us can remember being afraid of the dark, many of us are also afraid of the light.

I would begin with the observation that questions about the meaning of life and the significance of death often seem strange and foreign to us.  It strikes me that this is because these questions are part of the human condition but somehow – and quite effectively, according to our post-modern reductionist mainstream thinking, obsessed with the material world as the only “real world” – we have rejected such questions as impractical navel gazing.  This notwithstanding the fact that for all of human history, the meaning of life and its significance, have been among the principal problems of philosophy.  Only in our recent “scientific” post-modern era, have these questions and their meaning been declared to be meaningless.  I think of Dostoevsky here:

Man needs the unfathomable and the infinite just as much as he does the small planet which he inhabits.

Denial of death is essentially the denial of any meaning in death.  What is the consequential impact of such denial on any meaning of life?  Can the psychopomp assist here or is s/he merely an enabler of our fear of death?  Is death denial different from a belief that death is not “real?”  What if it is all part of the same mish-mashy stew – as observed by one author that “the affirmation that death is not real, that man has a soul and that this is immortal, arises out of a deep need to deny personal destruction, a need which is not a psychological instinct but is determined by culture, by cooperation and by the growth of human sentiments.” Theodosius Dobzhansky, The Biology of Ultimate Concern, at 78 (1967).

I think there is an important distinction to be made here between first, the  death denial as  denial of the fear of the unknown, the incapacity of our post-modern mindset to come to grips with reality beyond the objective and measurable and therefore to dismiss its existence and any attendant meaning, to basically pretend it isn’t there.  This is distinguished from the second kind of death denial in which the psychopomp may, if you will, play a role.  This kind of death denial is qualitatively different as it lends meaning to death as a form of the unknown, giving significance and substance to the mysterious transitions of this life – birth, death and all the transformations of self in-between.  Death here in the second type of fear/anxiety is simply part of life – accepted or not, it happens to all of us.  But what of the meaning of our dying?  Well, this is where I rely on psychopomp.

I think that one of the biggest problems we face, whether it is in the grips of illness, aging, disability or dying – is the meaning of our living and being here.  I propose death is like a mirror or our transitory and impermanent existence in any particular form.  Death denial is different from the fear of death (thanatophobia), and it in turn is distinguished from necrophobia – the fear of the dead.  The former is really a kind of anxiety more than it is a fear.  As a kind of fear, it is specifically a fear of the unknown, as none of us knows the manner of our death.  What does the fear mean in itself and what does the existence of the fear mean?

I like what Vassily Kandinsky wrote about white and black:

[w]hite,although often considered as no color (a theory largely due to the Impressionists, who saw no white in nature as a symbol of a world from which all color as a definite attribute has disappeared) . . . This world is too far above us for its harmony to touch our souls.  A great silence, like an impenetrable wall, shroud its life from our understanding.  White, therefore, has this harmony of silence . . . like many pauses in music that break temporarily the melody.  It is not a dead silence, but one pregnant with possibilities.

A totally dead silence, on the other hand, a silence of no possibilities, has the inner harmony of black. . . Black is something burnt out, like the ashes of a funeral pyre, something motionless like a corpse.  The silence of black is the silence of death. . . . Not without reason is white taken as a symbolizing joy and d spotless purity, and black grief and death.

V. Kandinsky, Concerning the Spiritual in Art, (M.T.H. Sadler, transl). at 48-49 (2013).

We navigate the world of the unknown every morning when we arise from sleep.  But yet, the unknown of death and dying seem insurmountable to many of us.  What if we draw on something familiar for our psychopomp, say . . .  the family dog?  In her book “Women Who Run With the Wolves,” Clarissa Pinkola-Estes observed that “[t]his little dog (in the Manawee saga) as psychopomp represents the instinctive psyche.  It hears and sees differently than a human.  It travels to levels the ego would never think of by itself.  It hears words and instructions that the ego cannot hear.  And it follows what it hears.”  C. Pinkola-Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves at 131 (1992).

I will conclude this introduction to the series on the work of the psychopomp here with something hopeful perhaps – that the fear of death is essentially the fear of life, that our fears of being separate and distinct from others and our human need to belong derive meaning only from engaging in relationship.  That relationship can make possible the broader and deeper meaning and give meaningful context to the mysterious purpose of our existence.  I like Richard Rohr’s description of “life as mutual participation” (from his book “Eager to Love” at 234 (2014)) and I wonder why this participation would cease with one’s physical existence.  But that’s in another post. . . . !

©Barbara Cashman  2015   www.DenverElderLaw.org