I wouldn’t venture a guess as to how often I get a call to open a succession, where the client in some form or fashion expresses that they want to keep their childhood home in the family, no matter what. When I hear that sentiment, my lawyerly red lights start flashing and I think: here be dragons!

Obviously, for some clients it happens with relative ease: they’re left the home in a will, or there’s no will and the decedent had only one child, and so forth. But other times, achieving this result can require a complicated and expensive sequence followed by a serious burden. For instance, their brother predeceased their mother, and he had four kids. One of those kids is missing, and one of those kids hates the remaining two. Now, instead of simply putting someone into possession of the home, we’re administering it, and not “independently” (a term of art that precludes many of the original formalities of an administered succession, and which requires the consent of all heirs or a designation in a will). The process now includes opening a succession, probably appointing a curator, and possibly undergoing a partition. Each of these elements can expand or contract based on the circumstances, and the end result can be a seriously high legal fee- the reward of which is the opportunity to purchase the remaining interests in the home, which is of course followed by the obligation to pay taxes, insurance, and maintenance on the home. Making matters worse, the home is often in some state of disrepair or deferred maintenance.

Of course, after it’s all said and done, they can turn it into an income producing property, but in the same way that I can begin selling handknit scarves online: First, I’d have to learn how to knit. Then, I can retire from the practice of law.

With all of this in mind, I immediately start trying to vet their wishes for practicality, so the client doesn’t go through much expense and effort to ultimately hurt themselves. But, I think I’ve been skipping over an important part of this conversation: compassion.

Compassion usually comes pretty naturally to me, but I think hearing this over and over again, and altogether not relating to the experience, has caused me to fake compassion more than truly experience it. “I understand how much this home means to you, but let’s lay out the costs you're looking at to make this happen. Assuming we’re able to achieve it, which I can’t guarantee, will you be able to hold onto it afterwards? I just don’t want to set you up for hardship down the line.” That last part, of course, is true. Helping my clients is one of the fundamentals of why I am an attorney, and I’d much rather not earn a fee than earn a fee by completing projects that harm them.

Maybe I’ve just been a little jaded. In addition to having that conversion over and over again, I have also not had a choice when it came to sentimentality for such expensive assets. From the time I left home at 18 until mid 2024, I rented. As a renter, I moved constantly. I lived in something like sixteen houses over seventeen years. No matter how much I loved the house or the neighborhood, my needs changed, or the landlord raised the rent, or sold it to new owners who very selfishly wished to live in the home. As for my childhood homes, they were sold long ago, and, reasonably, without my input. Those bandaids were torn off for me, and whatever wounds that may have existed have since healed, or perhaps they’ve been buried deep.

But in 2024, I bought a home, and my wife and I made it our own. In place of beige walls, greige walls, and white walls, we painted them pink, green, blue, yellow, and purple. We decorated in a way that people decorate when they don’t think they’ll be moving in eleven and a half months. Then, my son was born in the summer of 2025, and he is actually sleeping in my lap as I write this. Literally right now, he is suffering from his very first cold, and has a low fever. I haven’t decided if it’s the saddest cute thing I’ve ever seen or the cutest sad thing I’ve ever seen; but in either case, my heart is a-flutter with all of the feelings that a new dad is capable of having.

Although my wife and I have been together, as I like to say “forever,” we’ve also just celebrated our very first Christmas with our darling baby boy in our home. And, I think I get it now. What hardships or inconveniences would I endure, to be able to stand in that exact spot, where I pointed my infant son at a Christmas Tree while my wife plugged it in, and I watched as a sense of wonder overtook him. Dazzling lights blink-blinked, while timeless, cheerful songs that only he has never heard vibrated our moods and created a deep, deep coziness. Two dogs ran hither and thither, with a joyful, reckless disregard for our interest in capturing the moment in photos. I will never get to experience that moment again in my life, even though I know I will relive it in my heart forever.

So in the future, when folks call me and say that they want to preserve their childhood home come hell or high water, instead of thinking “Stop! No! Don’t!” I’ll think about that perfect moment, and other perfect moments. And before we dig into some practical realities to make sure that the client has the ability to preserve the asset, and understands what all goes into it, I’ll ask, “Would you like to share some of your favorite memories from growing up in that home?”

About the Author...

Max Ciolino
Ciolino & Onstott
Co-Chair, Solo & Small Firms Committee