Every life leaves a paper trail. The will. The deed. The passwords. The letters written to the future. The wishes spoken once, over a kitchen table, and never written down.
When a life ends, that trail has to be followed by people who are already grieving. They carry too much. They forget what they were told. They find out, at the worst possible moment, that the most important things were never written down, or written down somewhere no one can find.
This is not a technology problem. This is an old problem, older than technology. In a church, this problem had a room. The vestry. It held the records of a community — who was born, who was joined, who was lost. It held the vestments, the instruments, the silver. It was protected. It was stewarded. It was where you went before and after the most important ceremonies of a life.
We are building a vestry for a family. A quiet room, with all the important things in it, and a small group of people trusted to know where the keys are.
We believe in plain language. We believe in written-down promises. We believe permissions should read the way they work. We believe the people you love should not also become detectives. We believe that beginning before you need to is the greatest act of love a person can commit on paper.
We will not trade on fear. We will not price a family out of the truth they've already bought. We will not let grief become a subscription. When a steward opens a Vestry for the first time, in crisis, our product will be free to them forever.
Everything in its place. Everyone taken care of. Your family's vestry.