They thought she was a sweet old woman with one foot in the grave. When I heard my own children talk about the tombstone they had already chosen for me, I decided it was time to show them that goodness is not the same as weakness.
They say that life is a roller coaster and, honey, I can attest to it.
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I have been living for about 74 years and five months, and during this time I have seen my good ration of ups and downs.
A woman looking out the window | Source: Midjourney
A woman looking out the window | Source: Midjourney
One day, life is great. Everything goes according to your wishes, and the next, something happens that collapses your whole world.
But you have to keep swimming. You have to keep up the flow. That’s life. That’s what life is all about.
No matter how old you are, you still have something to worry about. Something that keeps you going.
A woman sitting on a bed | Source: Pexels
A woman sitting on a bed | Source: Pexels
My name is Martha and I have spent most of my life being the mother of my three children. Betty is the oldest, Thomas is the middle one and Sarah… is my girl.
God knows I gave them everything I had.
Every birthday, every Christmas, every scratch and bruise, I was there with open arms and a ready smile. His father and I tried our best to make sure they had opportunities that we never had.
Children hugging each other | Source: Pexels
Children hugging each other | Source: Pexels
We weren’t rich at all, but we managed to get the three of us to go to college. Sir, I still remember the day when each of them crossed that stage. Me sitting in the crowd, wiping my eyes with a handkerchief, with my heart about to explode with pride.
But when they grew up, got married and had their own families, I realized that they had less and less time for me. Phone calls that used to be daily became weekly, then monthly.
A phone on a desk | Source: Pexels
A phone on a desk | Source: Pexels
Sunday dinners at my house were reduced to only vacation visits. And when my grandchildren arrived (seven, if you can believe it), they were even busier.
“Mom, we have soccer practice,” Betty said.
“Mom, Thomas Jr. has a recital,” Thomas explained.
“Mom, work is crazy right now,” Sarah sighed.
I understood it. Really. Life moves forward, and young people have their own lives to lead. Then the great-grandchildren began to arrive. Now there are three small blessings that I barely know.
Close-up of a sleeping baby | Source: Pexels
Close-up of a sleeping baby | Source: Pexels
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 that 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 that it was time for the nursing home.
“It’s the best, Mom,” they all agreed. “You’ll have people to take care of you.”
What they meant was that they didn’t have time to take care of me themselves.
I’ve been in this residence for four years.
A road that leads to a nursing home | Source: Midjourney
A road that leads to a nursing home | Source: Midjourney
When I arrived, I was scared to death. My room was tiny compared to the house I had left behind.
Those first months, I cried until I fell asleep most nights.
But little by little, things changed. I met Gladys, who lived at the end of the corridor and taught me how to play cards. There was also Eleanor, who shared my fondness for police mysteries, and Dotty, who brought me homemade cookies when her daughter visited her.
A lot of cookies | Source: Pexels
A lot of cookies | Source: Pexels
We became a small family. All 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 care. That’s life, isn’t it? At least that’s what I told myself every time I saw other residents with visitors while I was sitting alone.
An older woman sitting alone | Source: Midjourney
An older woman sitting alone | Source: Midjourney
But the moment my health began to decay, everything changed. Suddenly, they were always close, watching over me, acting like the most loving family.
Betty brought flowers. Thomas asked about my medication. Sarah took my hand while the doctor spoke. My grandchildren even showed up, although most seemed more interested in their phones than in their elderly grandmother.
Documents on a desk | Source: Midjourney
Documents on a desk | Source: Midjourney
Of course, everyone was fighting over a bigger piece of the cake (and to be fair, it’s a pretty big cake). Harold and I were not fools with our money. We saved when saving was not easy, we invested when people said we were crazy, and now that old house is worth three times what we paid for it.
In addition, there was life insurance.
I would have been funny if I hadn’t heard them say that they had already reserved a plot for me in the cemetery and had even chosen a tombstone.
A cemetery | Source: Pexels
A cemetery | Source: Pexels
It happened on a Tuesday.
Betty had called to see how she was and we had had a pretty nice chat. I told her that Gladys had won the bingo three times in a row (that woman is either blessed or cheating), and she told me about her daughter’s dance recital.
When we finished talking, I was about to hang up when I realized that Betty hadn’t hung up the call on her part. I could hear background voices… Betty, Thomas and Sarah, along with some of my grandchildren.
A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney
A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney
“Mom sounds better today,” Betty said.
“That’s fine,” Thomas replied. “But we still have to be prepared. Dad’s plot is paid, and I’ve already reserved the one next door for mom.”
“Have you gotten the family discount from the cemetery?” Sarah asked.
Someone laughed. “I did something better than that. I got them to give me the engraving on the tombstone. Only the date is missing.”
My heart almost stopped. They talked about the preparations for my funeral as if they were planning a picnic.
A laughing man | Source: Pexels
A laughing man | Source: Pexels
“Has anyone already paid for the monument?” asked one of my granddaughters.
“not yet,” Betty said. “No one wants to advance the money.”
“Someone can cover the expenses now, and I will pay them with the inheritance!” my daughter joked, 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 rinsed, every dream I left aside so that they could have something better? Do they count the days left for me to leave and share what I will leave behind?
Close-up of a woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Close-up of a woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
I cried a lot that night in the hospital bed, but then my sadness was replaced by determination.
I’ve never been one to cry for a long time. After 74 years on this earth, you learn a couple of things about how to handle difficult situations.
That same night I asked the nurse for one more pillow, I drank all the water and took the medication without anterking. By the end of the week, I was already sitting. And at the end of the month, the doctor was surprised at how quickly I had recovered.
“You’re a fighter, Martha,” he told me with a smile.
A smiling doctor | Source: Pexels
A smiling doctor | Source: Pexels
“You have no idea,” I replied.
Once back in my residence room, I made some 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 told them. “I’m getting old and, after this scare, I want to make sure everything is in order. Can you come to the residence this Saturday? Bring my grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well. It’s important.”
Lord, have mercy, never in your life have you seen people abandon their plans so quickly.
Betty canceled an appointment at the hairdresser. Thomas changed the date of a golf match. Sarah found a babysitter for her dog. And each and every one of my grandchildren suddenly had no plans for Saturday.
Two boys sitting on a sofa | Source: Pexels
Two boys sitting on a sofa | Source: Pexels
When Saturday arrived, I had the nurses place chairs in the community room. While my family lined up, including some that I hadn’t seen in years, I sat at the head of the table. My lawyer, Mr. Jenkins, sat next to me with a briefcase full of papers.
“Mom, you look much better,” Betty said, kissing my cheek.
“Thank you all for coming,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I know how busy they are.”
I pointed my head at Mr. Jenkins, who opened his briefcase and took out a document.
A document on a table | Source: Midjourney
A document on a table | Source: Midjourney
“This is my will,” I explained to them. “I divide everything equally among my three children, with arrangements for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” I paused, noticing how everyone leaned slightly forward. “Mr. Jenkins will read it for you.”
While reading the details about the house, savings, investments and life insurance, I observed their faces.
When he finished, Thomas said: “It seems very fair to me, mom.”
A man looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
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 testament.”
He took out another document. “I, Martha, in full use of my mental faculties, bequey the following: To my children Betty, Thomas and Sarah, I leave a dollar to each. To each of my grandchildren, I also leave a dollar for each one.”
A man reading a document | Source: Midjourney
A man reading a document | Source: Midjourney
The room exploded in confused protests. Betty’s face turned red. Thomas got up. And Sarah? He started crying.
“What is this, mom?” Betty asked. “Is it some kind of joke?”
“It’s not a joke,” I said calmly. “I took almost all my money out of the bank, sold the house and donated a good part to the Residence’s Resident Aid Fund and to the people of Cancer Research… in memory of your father. I thought he would do it there rather than in his greedy pockets.”
“But it’s our inheritance!” said one of my grandchildren.
A young man | Source: Midjourney
A young man | Source: Midjourney
“Is it?” I asked, with a suddenly high-pitched voice. “How strange, I thought it was my money. Your grandfather and I worked hard to get that money. We saved and saved every last penny while you were too busy living your lives to visit me more than five times in four years.”
“I’ve heard them all. Talking about my plot in the cemetery and my tombstone. Laughing about paying it with my inheritance. Did any of you ever think that maybe she wasn’t ready to be buried yet?”
Their faces showed amazement. And then shame. Good.
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“With what money I have left, I’m going to hire a full-time caregiver and I’m going to go see the Grand Canyon. And to Paris. And to all those places that his father and I dreamed of, but that we never saw because we were too busy raising them and paying for the dentist, the university and the weddings.”
I looked around at his faces, at his stunned faces.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I feel a little tired. Gladys and I have bingo at four and I need to rest.”
A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
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 him. “Most of it. Although I save enough for those trips. Do you want to come to the Grand Canyon with me?”
With this story I don’t intend to suggest that you shouldn’t be kind to your children. God knows that I don’t regret raising mine for a single moment. And I’m not saying that you don’t leave them an inheritance.
A man signing a document | Source: Pexels
A man signing a document | Source: Pexels
What I’m saying is to teach your children that love is not measured in dollars and cents. Show them that you are more than what you can give them. And remember that being kind doesn’t mean being a doormat.
And me? I’m going to the Grand Canyon next month. It turns out that life is too short to wait for a tombstone.
