BETTY'S GRANDPARENTS, FRANK AND ELLA HAWTHORNE, were not my grandparents, but they were very special. Grandmother Hawthorne was, as I remember her, truly one of the sweetest women on earth. She never differentiated between relatives; Grandma always treated me with the same kindness as all who were her immediate relatives.
Grandmother passed away while I was overseas. When Uncle Jim passed away in 1984, his death marked what had been a psuedo relationship between his daughter and me. The last time I saw Betty Jean was at Uncle Jim's funeral. She did, however, send my daughter, about 12 at the time, a postcard telling her how much she and her husband were enjoying their trip. Death often reveals the truth about how important money really is to some individuals.
Betty's husband delivered a trunk load of rusty tools to our home shortly after Uncle Jim's death;he told me that Betty had picked them up from one of his sheds on the property he owned at the time and that Betty thought I might want them. I thanked him and sorted through the wrenches until I found one with a Milwaukee logo.
No, despite what one might have assumed, I did not recieve so much as a brass button off of his old railroad uniforms. All of the items that I had given my aunt and uncle during our lifetime were not returned to me. There was a family heirloom, a solid cherry mantle clock that the Hawthornes had given me for my room when I was a small boy, another item that my Uncle had told me would be mine upon his passing away. I should have taken it when he had offered it to me several years prior to his death. That is only a small example of the items I assumed would be mine to pass on, but I assumed wrong.
There was, however, one important item that Uncle Jim gave me prior to his death, a very thick volume of old family photos. Betty Jean, it turned out, had no intentions of passing on anything to me. She had obviously planned out the distribution process long in advance.
My uncle had told me, time and again, that "someday, when I am gone, you are going to be treated just as though you were my son. I have it all outlined in my will, Robert," he told me. I had never really thought otherwise. I believe that perhaps he knew some things I didn't, I don't know. I recall, however, when I had been in my early teens that my Uncle and Aunt declared that it was time to adopt me legally. Betty Jean had told them it would probably complicate my life sometime; that it might have a pschological effect on me. Actually, it would have made no difference to me whatsoever. It was not going to change my feelings. Although I had never called Jim or Dorothy "dad and mom" verbally, they were the only parents Ihad known throughout my lifetime.
Though he did not go into specifics, he had told me that he had established a kind of trust for my daughter that would pay her way through whatever college she might want to attend. He had mentioned that again, a few days before his death at Trinity Luthern Hospital in 1984.
At the time, my mind was more on his health than it was on his finances. He had said we would get half of his estate and I thought no more about the matter. As I said, life is full of surprises, but as one ages, one realizes nothing really surprises one any longer.
The day after my uncle passed away, Betty Jean drove to the little small north Missouri town where his home had been for the past few years. My wife had offered to go with her to help, but Betty made it clear that she felt it would be best if she went alone. Betty Jean mentioned that she had found no will anywhere.
My uncle had made it clear to my wife and I that there was a will and that our names were on it. Uncle Jim was the type of man who would not have felt it was necessary to legally file a will with the County or wherever it is one needs to file wills.
"No, strangely enough, there was no will, but we'll work out the details after the funeral, okay," she had stated while we were at the funeral home selecting the final appointments. I hadn't mentioned any details, I had assumed that she would honor his wishes, despite there "was no will."
The last time I saw or heard from Betty Jean was when the burial services ended. Now I understand things more clearly.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment