They say life’s a rollercoaster ride, and honey, I can surely testify to that.
I’ve lived for about 74 years and five months now, and during this time, I’ve seen my fair share of ups and downs.
One day, life’s great. Everything’s goin’ according to your wishes, and the next, somethin’ happens that crushes your entire world down.
But you gotta keep swimmin’. You gotta keep goin’ with the flow. That’s what life is, y’all. That’s what life is all about.No matter how old you are, you’ll still have somethin’ to worry about. Somethin’ that keeps you goin’.
My name’s Martha, and I spent most of my life bein’ a mother to my three children. Betty is my oldest, Thomas is my middle child, and Sarah… she’s my baby girl.
Lord knows I gave ’em everything I had.
Every birthday, every Christmas, every scrape and bruise, I was there with open arms and a ready smile. Their daddy and I worked ourselves to the bone to make sure they had opportunities we never did.
We weren’t rich by any means, but we managed to put all three through college. Lord, I still remember the day each one of ’em walked across that stage. Me sittin’ there in the crowd, dabbin’ at my eyes with a handkerchief, heart just about ready to pop from pride.
But as they grew up, got married, and had families of their own, I noticed they started havin’ less and less time for me. The phone calls that used to come daily became weekly, then monthly.
The Sunday dinners at my house dwindled down to just holiday visits. And when my grandkids came along (seven of ’em, if you can believe it), well, they were even busier.
“Mom, we’ve got soccer practice,” Betty would say.
“Mom, Thomas Jr. has a recital,” Thomas would explain.
“Mom, work is just crazy right now,” Sarah would sigh.
I understood. I really did. Life moves on, and young folks have their own lives to lead. Then the great-grandkids started arrivin’. Now, they’re three little blessings 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’d shared for nearly fifty years.
But after the second fall, when I laid on the kitchen floor for hours before the neighbor found me, my children decided it was time for the nursin’ home.
“It’s for the best, Mom,” they all agreed. “You’ll have people to look after you.”
What they meant was that they didn’t have time to look after me themselves.
I’ve been here at this nursin’ home for four years now.
When I first arrived, I was scared half to death. My room was tiny compared to the house I’d left behind.
Those first few months, I cried myself to sleep most nights.
But slowly, things changed. I met Gladys from down the hall, who taught me to play bridge. Then there was Eleanor, who shared my love for murder mysteries, and Dotty, who’d sneak in homemade cookies when her daughter visited.
We became a little family of our own. All of us abandoned in one way or another by the children we’d raised.
My kids and their families? They barely visited. Less than five times in four years, if you can believe it. Sometimes they’d call on birthdays or holidays, but most often it was just a card in the mail.
I didn’t mind. It’s just how life is, right? At least that’s what I told myself whenever I saw other residents with visitors while I sat alone.
But the moment my health started declinin’, everything changed. Suddenly, they were always around, dotin’ on me, actin’ like the most carin’ family ever.
Betty brought flowers. Thomas asked about my medication. Sarah actually held my hand while the doctor spoke. My grandkids even showed up, though most of them seemed more interested in their phones than in their old grandma.
The reason? My inheritance.
Of course, they were all fightin’ for a bigger slice of the pie (and to be fair, it’s a pretty big pie, y’all). Me and Harold weren’t no fools with our money. We saved when savin’ wasn’t easy, invested when folks said we was crazy, and now that ol’ house is worth three times what we paid for it.
Plus, there was the life insurance.
It happened on a Tuesday.
Betty had called to check on me, and we’d had a nice enough chat. I told her about Gladys winnin’ at bingo three times in a row (that woman is either blessed or cheatin’), and she told me about her daughter’s dance recital.
When we finished talkin’, I was about to hang up when I realized Betty hadn’t ended the call on her end. I could hear voices in the background… Betty, Thomas, and Sarah, along with some of my grandkids.
“Mom’s sounding better today,” Betty said.
“That’s good,” Thomas replied. “But we should still be prepared. Dad’s plot is paid for, and I’ve already reserved the one next to him for Mom.”
“Did you get the family discount from the cemetery?” Sarah asked.
Someone laughed. “I did better than that. I got them to throw in the headstone engraving for free. Just needs the date.”
My heart nearly stopped. They were discussin’ my burial arrangements like they were plannin’ a picnic.
“Has anyone paid for the monument yet?” one of my granddaughters asked.