Next month, my mother and I will have lunch at her favorite Italian restaurant, where we will raise a glass to a new development in our family.
Not her birthday or her new job, but the change to her will at the nearby law firm.
Until now, my mother, 83, had always said that her money should be divided equally between her three children. Today, convinced by me, she agreed to change her will so that I become the main beneficiary. My inheritance will be at the expense of my two sisters, who will see their share reduced.
Convinced by me, mother agreed to change her will so that I would be the main beneficiary
I didn’t feel guilty about my actions, but I couldn’t be happier and I had no sympathy for my sisters at all.
I know what you may be thinking, but I am not some unscrupulous schemer with a heart of stone taking advantage of an old lady while stabbing my siblings in the back. I am actually a loving but exhausted daughter who has had to put my own life on hold for the past five years as I care for the growing needs of an aging parent with a myriad of health issues.
Meanwhile, my sisters have washed their hands of her. Forget about helping her with everything from hospital visits to helping her at home; they can go months without seeing her. So I think it’s only fair that Mom’s will reflect our respective contributions—or lack thereof.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t spend time helping her. If I’m not taking her to medical appointments, I’m either making them or chasing them. I might spend two hours on the phone trying to figure out where she is on the waiting list for the hip replacement she so desperately needs.
I think it’s more than fair that Mother’s will reflect our respective contributions – or lack thereof
Maybe I should email her local council’s social care team and ask about the stair lift they were supposed to install in May but didn’t.
When the persistent rain finally stopped a few weeks ago and brought us a few days of lovely sunny weather, my social media was full of friends and family enjoying drinks in the garden, picnics and trips to the seaside.
I myself hardly stepped outside. I sat in a car or waited in the cramped outpatient clinics of the hospital as I drove my mother to a series of appointments.
There was an x-ray of an arthritic knee, an MRI of a shoulder, a session with a physiotherapist and a check-up with her GP. In between I was busy unpacking groceries, watering plants, changing bed linens and cleaning her bathroom.
At that point my frustration reached its peak and I told my mother to change her will in my favor. My mother is a widow who lives alone. She used to be very self-sufficient but now she is miserable and unhappy because she can no longer do so many things herself.
Things started going downhill when she slipped on the ice five years ago while mailing a letter. She broke her arm and hip and severely injured her back and shoulder. Because the mailbox was only a few minutes away, she didn’t take her cell phone with her.
Unable to get up, she lay on the freezing pavement for 40 minutes before a passerby spotted her and called an ambulance. She never fully recovered, physically or emotionally, and lost much of her self-confidence.
Because I couldn’t do anything for myself, I moved in with her for a few weeks after the accident. I wanted to, but I was also the only one who offered.
My older sister Fiona, mother of three adult children who have long since left home, is useless, despite the fact that she only works part-time and lives closer to Mom than I do.
When her kids were younger, she was happy to dump them at Mom’s for a week. Now, her adult children rarely see their grandma, and my sister doesn’t make a fuss about it either. As Mom gets older and more fragile, Fiona keeps her distance.
The only time she helped was when I called her crying and begged her to go to mom’s house and see if she was okay after her fall alarm went off and she wasn’t answering calls from the care company. I was at work and it would have taken me hours to get there.
Fiona went reluctantly. Luckily, Mum was okay. She had accidentally pressed her alarm button while she was in the garden and hadn’t heard the phone ring in the house.
Instead of being relieved, Fiona was furious that it had all been a “waste of my time.” It was as if she would have preferred Mother to have injured herself to make her trip worthwhile. That was in February—and she hasn’t visited Mother since.
Fiona’s once incredibly close attitude has soured our relationship that we now barely speak. I am willing to give Amy, my younger sister, some freedom. Her children are young and she lives three hours away from Mom. She calls her several times a week, tries to visit her at least once a month, and has expressed gratitude for everything I do. But it doesn’t make it any easier to carry the burden alone.
Unlike Fiona and Amy, I don’t have children. I suspect that’s why they think it’s easier for me to be responsible for my mother, even though they’re both supported financially by working husbands. That’s a luxury I don’t have as a divorcee.
I am currently in a permanent state of heightened anxiety and have no interest in dating or finding a new partner, which is a good thing because all my free time is taken up with caring responsibilities.
I could get outside help, but the idea makes me nervous. I know there are some really nice people out there, but elderly people living alone are vulnerable. A previous cleaner stole money from Mum’s purse. Mum caught her but was too scared to confront her and let her get away with the money. The cleaner had been recommended by a local charity for the elderly. Not so long ago a decorator tried to charge her an exorbitant amount to paint a bookshelf, demanding the money up front.
Every time I help Mom she asks, “Are you sure? This won’t get in the way of your work, will it?” I always say, “No, of course not,” because I don’t want her to be afraid to ask for help.
But the truth is that as a freelance marketing manager I lose money because I am no longer available for short-term projects.
Earlier this year I was offered a fast track job that would have paid me £2,000, but I had to take my mother to a doctor’s appointment that she had been waiting for for a year and had to turn the offer down.
I explained to Mother, a little tearfully, that although her will was honest at the time, it now needed to be corrected
She finds public transport too difficult and the last time she tried to take a taxi, the driver was grumpy and impatient because it took so long for her to get into the car.
My situation is not unique. There are millions like me — the child who has become a parent’s default caregiver, and who is happy to let his siblings shoulder the burden. I have two friends who are now estranged from their siblings because they simply cannot forgive them for not lending a helping hand.
In the end, my conversation with my mother about her will was much easier than I had expected. Her estate is not worth a fortune (she owns a three-bedroom house that is currently worth £280,000), but for some years I had felt a growing resentment that my sisters would receive the same amount as me, despite my considerable financial loss.
Over a cup of tea, I asked Mom if she still had the same will as all those years ago. She did. I explained, a little tearfully, that while it was honest at the time, it now needed to be corrected.
She nodded and said she had thought the same thing, and asked what I thought would be a fairer split. I said I would get half, not a third, and she readily agreed. That evening I called Amy and she gave the plan her full support, even offering to give me her quarter as well — which I declined.
I don’t plan on telling Fiona and I don’t think Mom wants a confrontation either.
The bottom line is that if she had behaved better, we wouldn’t have had to go to the lawyer.
*Names have been changed.
