Then, as my health declined, my children reappeared—bringing flowers, asking about my well-being, suddenly making time for visits. The reason? My inheritance. My husband and I had been careful with money, making wise investments, and our home had grown in value. When I overheard them discussing my burial plans, assuming they would soon be managing my estate, I was deeply hurt.
That moment changed everything. Instead of dwelling on it, I focused on regaining my strength. When my health improved, I made a few important calls—to my lawyer, my bank, and then to my children. “I need to discuss my will,” I told them. “Please come this Saturday.”
They all rearranged their schedules immediately. On the appointed day, I sat at the head of the table with my attorney. As the original will was read, my children looked relieved. But then I spoke. “I made some changes.”
Mr. Jenkins read the revised version: “To my children and grandchildren, I leave one dollar each.”
The room fell silent before erupting into questions. “Mom, what is this?” they asked in disbelief.
“I decided to use my savings for something meaningful,” I said. “A portion has gone to charity, including the nursing home’s support fund and cancer research in honor of your father. The rest? I’m using it to live.”
Their expressions changed from shock to regret. “I spent years waiting for visits, hoping for phone calls,” I continued. “And yet, when I needed you most, you were too busy. But when money was involved, suddenly I mattered.”
With what remained, I hired a caretaker and made plans to see the places my husband and I always dreamed of visiting.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I said, standing up with a smile. “I have a trip to the Grand Canyon to plan.”
As my children left in stunned silence, Gladys rolled over with a grin. “You really doing it?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. Want to come with me?”
She laughed. “Count me in.”
Life is too short to wait around for a headstone. It’s meant to be lived, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.