They figured I was just a frail old lady, half-gone already. But when I overheard my own kids plannin’ my headstone like it was a done deal, I knew it was time to prove kindness don’t mean weakness.
Life’s a bumpy ride, let me tell ya.
I’ve been kickin’ for 74 years and some change, and I’ve seen plenty of highs and lows.
One day, everything’s smooth sailin’, and the next, somethin’ comes along and knocks the wind outta you.
But you gotta keep pushin’. You gotta go with the flow. That’s what life’s all about.
No matter how many years you got under your belt, there’s always somethin’ to fret over, somethin’ that keeps you movin’ forward.
My name’s Verna, and I poured most of my life into raisin’ my three kids. Thalia’s my oldest, Gideon’s the middle one, and Zora’s my baby girl.
Lord knows I gave ‘em my all.
Every birthday, every Christmas, every scraped knee or bruise, I was there with a hug and a warm smile. Their daddy and I worked ourselves ragged to give ‘em chances we never had.
We weren’t swimmin’ in cash, but we got all three through college. I can still see ‘em walkin’ across that stage. Me in the crowd, dabbin’ my eyes with a tissue, heart near burstin’ with pride.
But as they grew, got hitched, and started their own families, they drifted away. Daily calls turned to weekly, then monthly.
Sunday suppers at my house fizzled out to just holiday pop-ins. When my grandkids came along—seven of ‘em, if you can believe it—they got even busier.
“Ma, we got soccer practice,” Thalia would say.
“Ma, Gideon Jr.’s got a recital,” Gideon would chime in.
“Ma, work’s just wild right now,” Zora would sigh.
I understood. I really did. Life keeps movin’, and young folks got their own roads to travel. Then the great-grandkids started arrivin’—three little darlin’s I barely know.
When my Orson passed six years back, things took a turn. For two years, I tried to keep things together alone in that big, empty house we’d shared for near fifty years.
But after my second tumble, when I was stuck on the kitchen floor for hours ‘til a neighbor found me, my kids decided a nursin’ home was the answer.
“It’s for your own good, Ma,” they all agreed. “You’ll have folks to look after you.”
What they meant was they didn’t have time to look after me themselves.
I’ve been in this nursin’ home for four years now.
When I first arrived, I was scared stiff. My room was a shoebox compared to the house I left behind.
Those first few months, I cried myself to sleep most nights.
But things got brighter. I met Sybil from down the hall, who showed me how to play bridge. Then there was Freya, who shared my love for murder mysteries, and Tilda, who’d sneak in homemade cookies when her daughter visited.
We became our own little crew, all of us left behind in one way or another by the kids we raised.
My kids and their families? They barely showed up. Less than five visits in four years, if you can believe it. Sometimes they’d call for birthdays or holidays, but more often it was just a card in the mail.
I didn’t fuss too much. That’s just how life goes, right? At least that’s what I told myself when I saw other residents with visitors while I sat alone.
But when my health took a dive, everything flipped. Suddenly, they were all over me, actin’ like the most devoted family you ever saw.
Thalia brought flowers. Gideon asked about my pills. Zora held my hand when the doctor talked. My grandkids even showed up, though most were more into their phones than their old grandma.
Why? My inheritance.
They were scrappin’ for a bigger slice of the pie—and to be honest, it’s a good-sized pie. Orson and I weren’t careless with money. We pinched pennies when times were tight, invested when folks thought we were nuts, and now that old house is worth three times what we paid.
Plus, there was the life insurance.
It might’ve been funny if I hadn’t overheard ‘em talkin’ about how they’d already reserved my cemetery plot and picked out a headstone.
It happened on a Tuesday.
Thalia called to check on me, and we had a pleasant chat. I told her about Sybil winnin’ bingo three times in a row—either she’s lucky or sneakin’ cards—and she told me about her daughter’s dance recital.
When we were done, I was about to hang up when I realized Thalia hadn’t ended the call on her end. I heard voices—Thalia, Gideon, and Zora, plus some of my grandkids.
“Ma’s soundin’ stronger today,” Thalia said.
“That’s good,” Gideon replied. “But we gotta be ready. Dad’s plot is paid for, and I’ve reserved the one next to him for Ma.”
“Did you get the family discount from the cemetery?” Zora asked.
Someone chuckled. “I did better. Got ‘em to throw in the headstone engravin’ for free. Just needs the date.”
My heart just about stopped. They were plannin’ my funeral like it was a potluck.
“Anyone paid for the monument yet?” one of my granddaughters asked.
“Not yet,” Thalia said. “No one wants to foot the bill.”
“Someone can pay now, and I’ll cover you back from the inheritance!” Zora joked, and they all laughed like it was the funniest thing.
I hung up with shakin’ hands. This is what I get? After pourin’ my whole life into ‘em? After every diaper, every tear, every dream I put on hold so they could have better? They’re countin’ the days ‘til I’m gone and divvyin’ up my money?
I cried hard that night in my hospital bed, but then my sadness turned to steel.
I ain’t one to mope for long. After 74 years, you pick up a trick or two for handlin’ tough times.
That night, I asked the nurse for an extra pillow, drank my water, and took my meds without a peep. By the end of the week, I was sittin’ up. By the end of the month, the doctor was stunned at how quick I bounced back.
“You’re a fighter, Verna,” he said, grinnin’.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied.
Back in my room at the nursin’ home, I got to work. Called my lawyer, then my bank, then my kids.
“I need to talk to y’all about my will,” I told ‘em. “I’m gettin’ up there, and after this health scare, I wanna make sure everything’s squared away. Can you come to the nursin’ home this Saturday? Bring the grandkids and great-grandkids too. It’s important.”
You never saw folks clear their calendars so fast.
Thalia canceled a salon appointment. Gideon skipped a golf game. Zora found a dog sitter. Every one of my grandkids suddenly had a free Saturday.
Come Saturday, I had the nurses set up chairs in the community room. As my family filed in, some I hadn’t seen in years, I sat at the head of the table. My lawyer, Mr. Tobin, sat beside me with a briefcase full of papers.
“Ma, you’re lookin’ so much better,” Thalia said, kissin’ my cheek.
“Thanks for comin’, y’all,” I said, smilin’ sweet. “I know how busy you are.”
I nodded to Mr. Tobin, who opened his briefcase and pulled out a document.
“This is my will,” I said. “It splits everything even between my three kids, with some for my grandkids and great-grandkids.” I paused, watchin’ ‘em lean forward a bit. “Mr. Tobin will read it.”
As he read the details about the house, savings, investments, and life insurance, I studied their faces.
They looked pleased as punch.
When he finished, Gideon said, “That sounds mighty fair, Ma.”
“I thought so too,” I nodded. “But then I realized it wasn’t fair at all.”
Their smiles vanished.
“Mr. Tobin, read the new will.”
He pulled out another document. “I, Verna, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath the following: To my children Thalia, Gideon, and Zora, I leave one dollar each. To each of my grandchildren, I also leave one dollar each.”
The room blew up in confused hollers. Thalia’s face turned red. Gideon stood up. And Zora? She started sobbin’.
“What is this, Ma?” Thalia demanded. “This some kinda prank?”
“No prank,” I said, cool as a cucumber. “I pulled most of my money outta the bank, sold the house, and gave a big chunk to the nursin’ home’s Resident Support Fund and Cancer Research, in memory of your daddy. Figured it’d do more good there than in your grabby hands.”
“But… that’s our inheritance!” one of my grandkids piped up.
“Is it now?” I shot back. “Funny, I thought it was my money. Me and your grandpa worked our fingers to the bone for it. Saved every dime while y’all were too busy to visit more than five times in four years.”
The room went dead quiet.
“I heard y’all, you know. Chattin’ about my cemetery plot and headstone. Laughin’ about payin’ for it with my money. Did any of you reckon I might not be ready to be planted yet?”
Their faces showed shock. Then guilt. Good.
“With what’s left, I’m hirin’ a full-time caretaker, and I’m goin’ to see the Grand Canyon. And Paris. All the places your daddy and I dreamed of but never saw ‘cause we were too busy raisin’ you, payin’ for your braces, college, and weddings.”
I looked at their stunned faces.
“Now, if y’all don’t mind, I’m a bit tuckered out. Sybil and I got bingo at four, and I need to rest up.”
After they left, Sybil wheeled over. “You really givin’ all your money to charity?”
I winked. “Most of it. Kept enough for those trips, though. Wanna come to the Grand Canyon with me?”
She grinned. “You bet I do.”
I ain’t tellin’ this story to say don’t be good to your kids. Lord knows I don’t regret a second I spent raisin’ mine. And I ain’t sayin’ don’t leave ‘em an inheritance.
What I’m sayin’ is teach your kids that love ain’t measured in dollars. Teach ‘em you’re more than what you can hand over. And remember, bein’ kind don’t mean bein’ a pushover.
As for me? I’m off to the Grand Canyon next month. Life’s too short to sit around waitin’ for a headstone.
