His Brother and Sister Called Their Father's Handwritten Page a Will — Then Maine's Highest Court Ruled It Was Never a Will at All

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Families can carry old wounds for decades, and nothing pulls those wounds open like money, property, and the last things a father put on paper. In Maine, three siblings ended up in court over a two-page handwritten document their father wrote the day before he died. Two of them said it was his will. The third said it wasn’t.

The Maine Supreme Judicial Court agreed with the probate judge: the handwritten pages were never a valid will at all. The decision, the source material, reads like a caution sign for any family that thinks a “quick note” will settle things cleanly after someone’s gone.

The uncomfortable part is how ordinary it all feels. A late-life argument, a rush of emotion, a piece of paper that sounds decisive, and then the cold reality that courts don’t probate feelings—they probate intent and legal requirements.

A family business, old distance, and a will already on file

Robert R. Young Sr. died on October 1, 2017. His children were Robert F. Young Jr., Dianne M. Parker, and Raymond E. Young. Robert Sr. owned Young’s Lobster Pound in Belfast, and after Robert Sr. retired in 2000, Raymond ran the business.

Years earlier, on September 6, 2000, Robert Sr. had executed a formal will prepared and notarized by his longtime attorney. That will split assets between Raymond and Dianne, gave the lobster pound to Raymond, and left Robert Jr. one dollar. The record also noted Robert Sr. had been estranged from Robert Jr. for many years.

So by the time 2017 rolled around, there was already a clean, lawyer-drafted will sitting there. If you’ve ever watched a family get blindsided by “Dad changed everything at the end,” you know why that matters.

The day-before handwritten pages that changed the temperature

On Saturday, September 30, 2017—the day before he died—Robert Sr. met with Robert Jr. According to the court’s findings, Robert Jr. stirred him up by saying Raymond was trying to sell the lobster pound and that Raymond didn’t invite Robert Sr. to Raymond’s daughter’s wedding.

While they were together, Robert Sr. wrote a two-page handwritten document. It included a series of directions: the lobster pound lease wouldn’t be renewed, Raymond and his family wouldn’t be employed there, property and equipment would be auctioned in 2018 with proceeds going to Dana-Farber Hospital in memory of his wife, certain stocks and bonds would go to that charity, bank deposits would go to Dianne, and Dianne would receive his house and garage and the vehicles and equipment inside.

The document also said, “Any moneys left shall go 50/50 to Dianne Parker + [Robert Jr.]” It included “Love, Bob Young,” asked someone to “Please say goodbye to all my friends,” and ended with the line: “This my last will + testament on 9/30/17.” On a later page, it added that “All Claires jewelry goes to Dianne Parker including her diamond bracelet + rings.”

Why the probate judge didn’t treat it like a real will

After Robert Sr. died, Raymond petitioned to probate the 2000 will. Robert Jr. and Dianne filed their own petition asking the court to probate the 2017 handwritten document as a holographic will (a will written in the testator’s handwriting).

The probate court held a three-day bench trial in April 2025. After hearing testimony, the judge found Robert Sr. did not intend the 2017 handwritten document to be his will. The court described it instead as a note he planned to take to his attorney to turn into a “permanent will,” and it denied probate of the handwritten pages while allowing the 2000 will.

If you’ve ever written something in a moment of anger and then thought, “I’ll deal with it properly on Monday,” you can already see where this is going. The problem is, Sunday showed up first.

The big legal issue: intent, not just handwriting

Maine law can recognize a holographic will if the signature and material parts are in the testator’s handwriting. But handwriting alone doesn’t do the whole job. The document also has to be written with testamentary intent—meaning the person intended that paper, right then, to operate as his will.

On appeal, Robert Jr. and Dianne argued the probate court shouldn’t have considered “extrinsic evidence” about intent—evidence outside the four corners of the document. They pointed to older cases about interpreting wills based on the document’s own language unless it’s ambiguous.

Maine’s high court disagreed, pointing to a statute that expressly allows intent to be established by extrinsic evidence. In plain terms: if the question is whether it’s a will at all, the court is allowed to look beyond the page to figure out what the person meant.

The details that convinced the court it was a “note,” not a will

One detail mattered more than people might expect: how Robert Sr. signed things. His attorney testified that Robert Sr. signed legal documents, including the 2000 will, in cursive as “Robert R. Young Sr.” Raymond and Robert Jr. both testified that he always signed documents that way.

But the 2017 handwritten pages were written in print letters, including the name. He printed “Bob Young.” The courts didn’t say printing is automatically invalid; they treated the difference as evidence that Robert Sr. wasn’t treating this like a final legal instrument.

Then there was Robert Jr.’s own testimony about what his father said. Robert Jr. testified Robert Sr. referred to the document as a “note” and said he’d take it to his attorney on Monday to make a “permanent will.” Robert Sr. died the next morning, so that Monday meeting never happened.

The probate court also heard testimony from Robert Sr.’s lawyer and accountant that Robert Sr. never spoke with them about changing his estate plan to cut out Raymond. Raymond testified he had friendly interactions with Robert Sr. up to the day Robert Sr. died. The probate court found it unlikely Robert Sr. would finalize a will that disinherited Raymond and dramatically changed the lobster pound plan without talking to the professionals he relied on—or without telling Raymond.

Yes, the handwritten pages included the phrase “This my last will + testament.” The Supreme Judicial Court acknowledged that could support a finding of testamentary intent. But appeals courts don’t re-try the case; they look for “competent evidence” supporting the trial judge’s finding. They found enough evidence to support the conclusion that Robert Sr. lacked intent to make the handwritten document his will.

The due process complaint didn’t land

Robert Jr. and Dianne also argued they weren’t on notice that “testamentary intent” would be a trial issue, claiming that blindsided them and violated due process. The high court wasn’t persuaded.

The record showed Raymond flagged intent ahead of trial in a memorandum, calling it a focal point and arguing the document looked like notes for later discussion. He also filed a motion in limine seeking to introduce statements related to Robert Sr.’s donative and testamentary intent. And once testimony started rolling in about signatures and about the “note” being taken to a lawyer, it would’ve been clear intent was part of the fight.

The court also pointed out something that shows up in a lot of legal disputes: if you think you’ve been surprised, you have to do something about it in the moment. The opinion notes they didn’t object to the evidence on that ground or seek a continuance to respond. They engaged the issue and argued it, then complained after they lost.

What a hard family lesson looks like in real life

This isn’t just a legal technicality; it’s a picture of how fragile end-of-life “plans” can be when they’re fueled by a Saturday argument. A father gets inflamed, writes something dramatic, and calls it a “note” he’ll clean up later. Then death shows up, and the family is left arguing over whether “later” ever came.

If you’re the one responsible for a household—financially, emotionally, spiritually—this story should feel like a nudge in the ribs. Put things in order while your head is clear. Don’t make major decisions in a surge of anger, and don’t assume a scribbled page will do the job your family needs it to do.

The Maine court didn’t say Robert Sr. was a bad man, and it didn’t pretend families are tidy. It did what courts are supposed to do: follow the law, weigh the evidence, and decide whether that handwritten page was intended to be the final word. In this case, the final word stayed with the will he signed years earlier—back when he wasn’t trying to solve decades of family tension in a single, rushed afternoon.