They thought I was a sweet old lady with one foot in the grave. When I overheard my own children talking about the headstone they had already picked out for me, I decided it was time to show them that kindness is not the same as weakness.
They say life is a roller coaster, and honey, I can attest to that. I’ve been living for about 74 years and five months, and during this time, I’ve seen my fair share of ups and downs.
One day, life is great. Everything goes your way, and the next, something happens that knocks your whole world down. But you have to keep swimming. You have to go with the flow. That’s life. That’s what life is about.
No matter how old you are, you’ll always have something to worry about. Something that keeps you going.
My name is Martha, and I’ve spent most of my life being a mother to my three children. Betty is the oldest, Thomas is the middle one, and Sarah… is my little girl. God knows I gave them everything I had.
Every birthday, every Christmas, every scrape and bruise, I was there with open arms and a ready smile. Their father and I worked as hard as we could to make sure they had opportunities we never had.
We weren’t rich by any means, but we managed to get all three of them into college. Lord, I still remember the day each of them crossed that stage. Me sitting in the crowd, wiping my eyes with a handkerchief, my heart about to burst with pride.
But when they grew up, got married, and had their own families, I realized they had less and less time for me. The phone calls that used to be daily turned into weekly, then monthly.
Sunday dinners at my house were reduced to only visits during the holidays. And when my grandchildren (seven, can you believe it?) came along, they were even busier.
“Mom, we have soccer practice,” Betty would say.
“Mom, Thomas Jr. has a recital,” Thomas would explain.
“Mom, work is crazy right now,” Sarah would sigh.
I understood. I really did. Life moves on, and the young ones have their own lives to live. Then came the great-grandchildren. Now there are three little blessings that I barely know.
When my Harold passed away six years ago, that’s when things really changed. For two years, I tried to manage on my own in that big empty house we had shared for almost fifty years.
But after the second fall, when I was lying on the kitchen floor for hours before the neighbor found me, my children decided it was time for the nursing home.
“It’s for the best, Mom,” they all agreed. “You’ll have people to take care of you.”
What they really meant was they didn’t have time to take care of me themselves.
I’ve been here in this nursing home for four years.
When I first arrived, I was terrified. My room was tiny compared to the house I had left behind. During those first few months, I cried myself to sleep most nights. But little by little, things started to change. I met Gladys, who lived at the end of the hall and taught me how to play cards. There was also Eleanor, who shared my love of crime mysteries, and Dotty, who brought me homemade cookies when her daughter visited.
We became a small family. All of us abandoned in one way or another by the children we had raised.
My children and their families? They barely visited me. Less than five times in four years, if you can believe it. Sometimes they called on birthdays or holidays, but most of the time, it was just a card in the mail.
I didn’t mind. That’s life, right? At least that’s what I told myself every time I saw other residents with visitors while I sat alone.
But as soon as my health started to decline, everything changed. Suddenly, they were always near, concerned about me, acting like the most loving family in the world.
Betty brought flowers. Thomas asked about my medication. Sarah held my hand while the doctor spoke. My grandchildren even showed up, although most seemed more interested in their phones than their elderly grandmother.
Of course, they were all fighting for a bigger slice of the pie (and to be fair, it’s quite a big pie). Harold and I weren’t fools with our money. We saved when saving wasn’t easy, invested when people said we were crazy, and now that old house is worth three times what we paid for it.
Plus, there was the life insurance.
It would have been funny if I hadn’t overheard them talking about how they’d already reserved a plot at the cemetery and even chosen a headstone.
Betty had called to check on me, and we had a pleasant conversation. I told her that Gladys had won bingo three times in a row (that woman is either blessed or cheats), and she told me about her daughter’s dance recital.
When we finished talking, I was about to hang up when I realized Betty hadn’t hung up on her end. I could hear voices in the background… Betty, Thomas, and Sarah, along with some of my grandchildren.
“Mom sounds better today,” Betty said.
“That’s good,” Thomas replied. “But we still need to be prepared. Dad’s plot is paid for, and I’ve reserved the one next to it for Mom.”
“Did you get the cemetery’s family discount?” Sarah asked.
Someone laughed. “I did something better than that. I got them to throw in the engraving on the headstone. Only the date is missing.”
My heart almost stopped. They were talking about my funeral preparations like they were planning a picnic.
“Has anyone paid for the monument yet?” one of my granddaughters asked.
“Not yet,” Betty said. “No one wants to front the money.”
“Someone can cover the expenses now, and I’ll pay them back with the inheritance!” joked my daughter, and everyone laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.
I hung up the phone with trembling hands. Is this what I get? After sacrificing my whole life for them? After every diaper I changed, every tear I wiped away, every dream I set aside so they could have something better? Are they counting down the days until I’m gone and dividing up what I’ll leave behind?
I cried a lot that night in the hospital bed, but then my sadness was replaced by determination.
I’ve never been one to sit and cry for too long. After 74 years on this earth, you learn a thing or two about how to handle tough situations.
That same night, I asked the nurse for an extra pillow, drank all the water, and took my medication without complaint. By the end of the week, I was sitting up. And by the end of the month, the doctor was amazed at how quickly I had recovered.
“You’re a fighter, Martha,” he said with a smile.
“You have no idea,” I replied.
Once back in my room at the nursing home, I made a few calls. First to my lawyer, then to my bank, and finally, to my children.
“I need to talk to all of you about my will,” I said. “I’m getting older, and after this scare, I want to make sure everything is in order. Can you come to the nursing home this Saturday? Bring my grandchildren and great-grandchildren too. It’s important.”
Lord, have mercy, you’ve never seen people drop their plans so quickly in your life.
Betty canceled a hair appointment. Thomas rescheduled a golf game. Sarah found a babysitter for her dog. And every single one of my grandchildren suddenly had no plans for Saturday.
When Saturday came, I had the nurses set up chairs in the common room. As my family entered, one by one, including some I hadn’t seen in years, I sat at the head of the table. My lawyer, Mr. Jenkins, sat beside me with a briefcase full of papers.
“Mom, you look much better,” Betty said, kissing my cheek.
“Thanks to all of you for coming,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I know how busy you are.”
I nodded toward Mr. Jenkins, who opened his briefcase and pulled out a document.
“A document on a table” | Source: Midjourney
“This is my will,” I explained. “Divide everything equally between my three children, with provisions for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” I paused, noticing how they all leaned forward slightly. “Mr. Jenkins will read it for you.”
As he read the details about the house, savings, investments, and life insurance, I watched their faces.
When he finished, Thomas said, “Sounds fair, Mom.”
A man looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
“I thought so too,” I nodded. “But then I realized it wasn’t fair at all.”
“Mr. Jenkins, please read the new will.”
He pulled out another document. “I, Martha, being of sound mind, bequeath the following: To my children Betty, Thomas, and Sarah, I leave one dollar each. To each of my grandchildren, I leave one dollar each.”
A man reading a document | Source: Midjourney
The room erupted in confused protests. Betty’s face turned red. Thomas stood up. And Sarah? She started crying.
“What is this, Mom?” Betty asked. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s no joke,” I said calmly. “I withdrew almost all my money from the bank, sold the house, and donated a good portion to the Resident Assistance Fund here at the nursing home and to Cancer Research… in memory of your father. I thought it would do more good there than in your greedy pockets.”
“But it’s our inheritance!” one of my grandchildren shouted.
A young man | Source: Midjourney
“Is it?” I asked, my voice suddenly sharp. “How strange, I thought it was my money. Your father and I worked hard to earn that money. We scrimped and saved every last penny while you were too busy living your lives to visit me more than five times in four years.”
The room fell silent.
“I’ve heard all of you. Talking about my cemetery plot and my headstone. Laughing about paying for it with my inheritance. Did any of you ever think that maybe I wasn’t ready to be buried yet?”
Their faces showed astonishment. And then shame. Good.
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“With what’s left of my money, I’m going to hire a full-time caregiver, and I’m going to visit the Grand Canyon. And Paris. And all those places your father and I dreamed of, but never saw because we were too busy raising you, paying for your dentist, your college, and your weddings.”
I looked around at their astonished faces.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit tired. Gladys and I have bingo at four, and I need to rest.”
A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
When they left, Gladys turned to me. “Are you really going to donate all your money to charity?”
I winked at her. “Most of it. Though I’m keeping enough for those trips. Want to come with me to the Grand Canyon?”
With this story, I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t be kind to your children. God knows I don’t regret a single moment of raising mine. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t leave them an inheritance.
A man signing a document | Source: Pexels
What I’m saying is that you should teach your children that love isn’t measured in dollars and cents. Teach them that you’re more than what you can give them. And remember that being kind doesn’t mean being a doormat.
As for me? I’m going to the Grand Canyon next month. Turns out, life’s too short to wait for a headstone.
