They all thought I was just a sweet old lady, barely hangin’ on, with one foot in the grave. But when I overheard my own children discussin’ the headstone they’d already picked out for me, I realized somethin’ real important—kindness ain’t the same as weakness. And I was about to show them just how wrong they’d been about me.
Life’s a rollercoaster, they say. And honey, I can testify to that. Seventy-four years and five months on this earth, and I’ve seen my fair share of ups and downs. One day, everything’s perfect, and the next, life slams you down so hard you don’t know if you’ll ever get back up. But that’s the thing—you gotta get up. You gotta keep swimmin’ even when the current’s against you. That’s just how life works.
My name’s Martha, and for most of my life, I was a mother first and foremost. I raised three kids—Betty, Thomas, and my baby girl, Sarah. Lord knows, I gave ‘em every ounce of love I had.
Every scraped knee, every heartbreak, every birthday and Christmas, I was right there, arms open and ready. Their daddy and I worked ourselves half to death just to make sure they had what we never did. We didn’t have much, but we had enough. We put all three of ‘em through college, and I still remember sittin’ in those crowds, watchin’ each of ‘em walk across that stage, tears streamin’ down my face.
But as they grew older, got married, had kids of their own, the phone calls got fewer and farther between. The Sunday dinners I once looked forward to became holiday visits. And when my grandkids came along—seven of ‘em, if you can believe it—I barely got to know ‘em.
“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. Or at least, I tried to. Life moves on, and people get busy. Then the great-grandkids started arrivin’, and now, there’s three little ones I wouldn’t even recognize on the street.
When my Harold passed six years ago, things really changed. I tried to manage on my own, in that big empty house we shared for nearly fifty years. But after my second fall—when I laid on the kitchen floor for hours before my neighbor found me—my kids decided it was time for a nursin’ home.
“It’s for the best, Mom,” they all said. “You’ll have people to take care of you.”
What they really meant was they didn’t have time to do it themselves.
I’ve been here for four years now. At first, I cried myself to sleep most nights, feelin’ lost and abandoned. But then I met Gladys, who taught me bridge, and Eleanor, who loved murder mysteries just as much as I did. Dotty snuck in homemade cookies when her daughter visited, and before I knew it, I had a new little family. We were all here for the same reason—tossed aside by the very people we gave our lives to.
My children? They barely visited. Less than five times in four years. The occasional phone call on birthdays. Maybe a Christmas card. It stung, but what could I do? That’s just how things were.
But the second my health took a turn, suddenly they were actin’ like the most carin’ family in the world. Betty brought flowers, Thomas asked about my medication, Sarah held my hand like she hadn’t ignored me for years. Even my grandkids showed up, though most of ‘em spent more time scrollin’ on their phones than talkin’ to me.
The reason? My inheritance.
Harold and I weren’t fools with money. We saved, we invested, and that old house we bought? Worth three times what we paid for it. And let’s not forget the life insurance.
Then, on a quiet Tuesday, I heard somethin’ that changed everything.
Betty had called to check in, and we had a nice chat. When we hung up, I realized she hadn’t ended the call on her end. That’s when I heard them talkin’.
“Mom’s soundin’ 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. Got them to throw in the headstone engravin’ for free. Just needs the date.”
My heart nearly stopped. They were plannin’ my burial like they were discussin’ where to go for lunch.
“Has anyone paid for the monument yet?” one of my grandkids asked.
“Not yet,” Betty said. “No one wants to front the money.”
“Someone can cover the costs now, and I’ll pay you back from the inheritance!” Sarah joked.
They all laughed.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. But the next mornin’, I woke up with a plan.
I asked the nurse for an extra pillow, drank all my water, and took my medicine without complainin’. By the end of the week, I was sittin’ up. By the end of the month, I was walkin’ again. The doctor was amazed.
“You’re a fighter, Martha,” he said.
“You have no idea,” I told him.
Then, I made my calls—to my lawyer, my bank, and my children.
“I need to talk to y’all about my will,” I told them. “It’s important. Can you come to the nursin’ home this Saturday? Bring the grandkids, too.”
Lord have mercy, you ain’t never seen folks clear their schedules so fast.
Saturday came, and they all gathered in the community room. I sat at the head of the table, my lawyer beside me.
“Mama, you’re lookin’ so much better!” Betty said, kissin’ my cheek.
“Thank you for comin’,” I smiled sweetly. “I know how busy y’all are.”
Mr. Jenkins, my lawyer, pulled out a document. “This is my will,” I said. “Divides everything equally. Mr. Jenkins, go ahead.”
They listened, noddin’, lookin’ relieved. Then, I dropped the bomb.
“But I realized that wasn’t fair,” I said. “So I changed it. Mr. Jenkins, the new will, please.”
“I, Martha, bein’ of sound mind, leave one dollar to each of my children and grandchildren.”
The room exploded. Betty’s face turned red, Thomas shot up from his chair, Sarah started cryin’.
“Mama, what is this?!” Betty yelled.
“No joke,” I said calmly. “I sold the house. Donated most of the money to charity. Cancer research, in memory of your daddy. Figured it’d do more good there.”
“But that’s our inheritance!” one of my grandkids blurted.
“Is it? Funny, I thought it was my money.”
Silence.
“I heard y’all, plannin’ my funeral. Countin’ the days till I was gone. Did it ever occur to you that I ain’t ready to go yet?”
More silence.
“With what’s left, I’m hirin’ a caretaker. And I’m goin’ to the Grand Canyon. And Paris. Places your father and I never got to see.”
They left in stunned silence. Later, Gladys grinned at me. “You really givin’ it all away?”
I winked. “Kept enough for those trips. Wanna come to the Grand Canyon with me?”
She laughed. “You bet I do.”
Because, honey, life’s too short to wait around for a headstone.