The Will of an Elderly Woman and the Story told by her Daughter
On a recent transatlantic flight, I had the most profound experience; my seat-mate, a retired psychologist, told a lovely story of her mother who loved her children enough to hand write a beautiful "will" for them asking only that the estate get divided into 6 pieces, one for each child and that they "love and support one other". It was a lesson that apparently this woman had taught her children throughout their lives.
Whether or not the "will" of my seat-mate's mother could have been contested is irrelevant here, as the children did as the mother asked, and they continue to do so. Had things become contentious, no amount of desire on the part of this woman could have willed peace. It was the power of her love, the power of her words, that willed her children to do as she asked. As this seat-mate described she and some of her other siblings have even decided to help one of their nephews, a young man who struggles, buy a home. They continue to love and support one another as their mother requested.
This woman's story, so beautifully told for some time on that flight, is antithetical to my own. An elderly woman's last wish, which was to keep her family together, is so contrary to my story, but it did not have to be. In only a few words, written on a piece of paper by hand, and signed, the elderly mother successfully accomplished her task. While my father could never have so artfully maneuvered his children to behave as my seat-mate's siblings have behaved, he could certainly have prevented a toxic force, the Executor, from creating discord where it might never have been. He could undoubtedly have made his position clear enough to keep the peace.
My seat-mate's story has had a remarkable impact on me because I believe that this woman's mother's words carried such great weight because of the strength of the bond amongst her children, something to which I hope she looks down upon with great pride. The reality is that her words would have held little weight had my sister been one of the siblings involved; and had there been an Executor like the one in my case, a toxic rabid man looking to make money and caring little for the mess he leaves in his wake.
My father's own wishes, had they been made known on paper, through a simple caveat written to his will, might have alleviated some of the stress. He might have actually willed the result he wanted.
The reality is that my father's wishes were known to both my sister and to me. He had expressed himself numerous times. He had stated that he wanted to remove the executor many times. He had stated that he did not want us fighting over his and my mother's things. He had unequivocally expressed that he wanted peace.
The will, as written, states that we take what we want from the home and in the event of a disagreement that the assets get sold. My father did not want monetary value placed on his things. He wanted his children to get the benefit of what he had but not at any cost, and certainly not at the toll it has taken. My father's entire purpose for bringing in an executor was to keep the peace. It is unfortunate, however, that the Executor in our case is a self-serving venomous individual who sees this as his last vestige of income, and one so easily generated. It is a shame, but perhaps in some sense a gift for me, that the Executor considers not that my sister will die alone and without family, save for himself.
Perhaps the greatest sense of peace and understanding regarding my discussion with my seat-mate has come of the last few days. I am left with the feeling that perhaps my father did, indeed, bequeath me a gift, my freedom. He showed me in true form, who my sister was and is. He has shown me that my views on my cousin solidified three years ago, were correct in all measure. I feel vindicated. After enduring the lies and betrayal of the last few months, both at the hands of my sister and at the hands of the Executor, I have come to the conclusion that my father willed me truth, an honest and unadulterated view of two people who are in all respects made for each other. I am now free to believe that we do not choose family, they are chosen for us. While we might want, deep down, to protect that relationship at all costs, sometimes we cannot do so for even the attempt is at our own peril. My father has, in his silence, willed me my freedom, something he asked me to find for myself long ago.
My seat-mate on that fateful journey left me with one final thought: "Teach your children to love and support one another." I hope that I am going to prove successful in teaching that lesson. In the meantime, though, I will reemphasize the importance of drafting a will, for the sheer survival and well-being of those who are left behind. For my seat-mate, her mother's words were adequate and sufficed to leave her family in tact. For me, my father's words were lacking in clarity that could only have come from him in writing. He has set me free, though, just not necessarily in ways he envisioned or willed.
