I’m Rose, 74, and life’s been a journey of highs and lows. I poured my soul into raising my kids—Ellen, Robert, and Jane—giving them love, time, and chances my husband, Frank, and I never had. We weren’t rich, but we saved enough to send them to college, bursting with pride at their diplomas. As they started families, I saw them less. Calls faded from daily to occasional, and our weekly dinners turned into holiday visits. With six grandkids and two great-grandkids, I knew they were busy, but their distance hurt.
After Frank passed six years ago, our big house echoed with loneliness. I coped until a fall left me stranded on the floor for hours. My kids pushed for a nursing home. “It’s safer, Mom,” they said. I was scared, leaving my home for a small room. Nights were tearful until I bonded with Vera, who loves chess, and Lila, who sneaks brownies. We became a tight crew, all feeling sidelined by our families. My kids visited maybe five times in four years, sending cards for special days, while I watched others with guests, alone.
When my health faltered, they were suddenly attentive. Ellen brought lilies, Robert asked about my meds, and Jane listened to my doctor. Grandkids came, glued to phones. I knew it was about my inheritance. Frank and I had saved smart, and our house was now valuable, plus insurance. One day, Ellen called, and we chatted about Vera’s card wins. She didn’t end the call, and I overheard her, Robert, Jane, and grandkids. “Mom’s stronger,” Ellen said. “Good, her plot’s set by Dad’s,” Robert replied. “Got the headstone free,” Jane laughed. “We’ll pay with her money,” a grandkid added, chuckling.
My heart broke. After all I gave, they planned my burial like a party. I cried, then got mad. I took my pills, rested, and soon, my doctor was shocked at my recovery. “You’re a warrior, Rose,” he said. I smiled, “Damn right.” I called my lawyer, bank, and kids. “Let’s talk my will Saturday, bring everyone,” I said. They rushed over, dropping plans—Ellen skipped yoga, Robert canceled fishing, Jane got a sitter. Grandkids showed up too. In the home’s lounge, with my lawyer, Mr. Lee, I spoke. “Thanks for being here,” I said.
Mr. Lee read my old will, dividing my wealth evenly. They looked content. “That’s not right,” I said. He read the new one: “To Ellen, Robert, Jane, and each grandchild, one dollar.” They protested, Robert yelling, “What’s this, Mom?” I said, “I sold the house, gave most to the home’s fund and heart research, for Frank.” Silence fell. “You planned my grave, joked about my money. Visited five times in four years. I’m not done living.” They looked ashamed. “I’m hiring help, seeing Hawaii, Spain.” I stood. “Lila’s waiting for chess.” Vera asked, “All gone?” I winked, “Most. Hawaii with me?” She grinned, “Yes!” Love your kids, but demand respect. I’m off to Hawaii, living big.
