In Jamaica we have a saying: “Dead lef’ cause war.” Unfortunately, that’s not just an old-time proverb, it’s the lived experience of far too many families.

The recent revelation by Justice Minister Delroy Chuck that over $55 billion in assets are tied up in the Office of the Administrator General due to a lack of wills should alarm us all. That’s not just wealth in limbo, it’s a legacy delayed, dreams derailed, and family unity disrupted.

As an attorney, I have encountered countless cases in which grieving families, already burdened with the emotional weight of loss, are thrust into bitter disputes simply because their loved ones didn’t leave a will. In some cases, properties are left abandoned, bank accounts frozen, and siblings become adversaries. All of it could have been avoided by one simple, powerful document — a will.

Let’s debunk the myths.

‘Mi nuh have nutten, so mi nuh need a will’

This mindset is both common and tragic. In many Jamaican households people undervalue what they own — a two-bedroom house in rural St Elizabeth, a shop in Spanish Town, a car that’s fully paid off, or even a small piece of land passed down from grandparents. These may not seem like much to you, but they hold real financial and sentimental value. More importantly, they are assets, and assets should be managed, especially at the time of your death.

You’d be surprised how many families end up in court or fall into bitter disputes over “likkle land” or “daddy’s old van”. These things may not be worth millions, but they can trigger decades of resentment when left without direction. I’ve seen properties sit idle for years, weed-covered and deteriorating, because no one can agree on who it belongs to or how it should be divided. These are not legal disputes caused by lawyers, they are avoidable conflicts caused by silence.

‘Mi too young fi dat’

This myth is rooted in fear. Some people believe that writing a will invites death — almost like tempting fate. But the truth is preparation does not mean anticipation. Making a will doesn’t mean you’re expecting to die, it means you’re mature enough to recognise that life is uncertain, and your responsibilities to your family extend beyond your own lifespan.

Let’s face it, death doesn’t only come for the old or the sick. We’ve lost young lives to car crashes, gun violence, sudden illness, and natural disasters. When a young adult dies without a will, his/her family is often left not just mourning but scrambling, sometimes arguing, trying to interpret what the person would have wanted. This is especially important if you have young children, siblings depending on you, or a partner you’re not legally married to.

In fact, the best time to write a will is when you’re healthy, clear-minded, and fully in control. That way you’re not rushed, you’re not pressured, and you can revise it as life changes — new children, new property, new goals. A will isn’t a one-time act of surrender, it is a living document of intention, giving you the freedom to adjust it as you grow.

‘It too expensive and long’

A lot of people assume that making a will requires thousands of dollars and weeks of back and forth. Not so. In fact, a basic will can be drafted and finalised within a few days for less than what some people spend on a weekend outing.

Of course, if you have complex assets, like multiple properties, overseas investments, or business partnerships, then you may need a more detailed estate plan. But for most Jamaicans, a straightforward will that outlines who should get what and who should manage your estate is more than enough.

Many families spend years chasing paperwork, paying legal fees, or worse, walking away from assets altogether because it’s too difficult to sort out. I know of families who’ve lost properties because no one had the money to apply for letters of administration or couldn’t locate every next of kin. Your legacy should not be locked behind red tape.

‘My family will sort it out’

Ah yes, the trust in “family unity”. It’s a beautiful ideal, but one that often collapses in the face of grief and the scent of inheritance. I’ve seen sisters stop speaking, cousins end up in court, stepchildren left out entirely, and children born outside of marriage being told, “You don’t belong here.” These are the real stories behind the headlines.

A will isn’t about trusting or distrusting your family, it’s about protecting them from themselves, from assumptions, and from the legal system having to step in and take over your voice. The law doesn’t ask what’s “fair”, it applies formulas. If you die without a will, the Intestates’ Estates and Property Charges Act decides who gets what. That might mean your estranged sibling could inherit before your long-time partner.

‘Mi already tell dem wah mi wan’

Verbal promises are not legally binding. Telling your daughter, “The house is yours,” or promising your friend, “Mi ago leave you the car,” means nothing without written proof. I’ve seen families in which three people say the deceased told them three different things. Who do you believe?

Without a written will, your wishes die with you. And no matter how trustworthy or close your family may be, grief can cloud judgment. Some will honour your word, but others may see an opportunity and act in their own interest.

Writing your will is a way of saying: “This is my word, on paper. No confusion. No arguments.”

What a Will Really Does

A will is more than just a piece of paper — it is the voice of the deceased, a roadmap of their intentions, and a safeguard for those left behind. At its core, a will gives you the power to say who should benefit from your life’s work, who should take care of your children, and who you trust to manage your affairs. It brings structure to what could otherwise be chaos. By naming an executor, outlining clear distributions, and recording your wishes, you provide your family with guidance, protection, and peace.

For those with dependents, businesses, or blended families, the will becomes even more important. It can be the difference between fairness and frustration, inclusion and omission. And unlike assumptions or verbal promises, a legally executed will carries the force of law. It becomes a reliable and binding expression of your desires.

A will is, at its essence, a final act of love. It recognises that death is not the end of our responsibility to those we care about. It is a tool of dignity. It represents preparation and serves as an instrument of peace. In a country where too many families are torn apart by inheritance disputes, it is time we change the culture and normalise responsible estate planning.

Rodain Richardson is an attorney-at-law and managing partner at Richardson Law Chambers. Send comments to the Jamaica Observer or rodainrichardsonlegal@gmail.com.