My Grandkids Had Already Reserved a Cemetery Plot and Headstone for Me – but They Forgot That I’m More than Just Kind

They thought I was just a sweet old lady with one foot in the grave. When I overheard my own children discussin’ the headstone they’d already picked out for me, I decided it was high time to show them that kindness ain’t the same as weakness.

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 would’ve been funny only if I hadn’t overheard them talkin’ about how they’d already reserved me a cemetery plot and even picked out a headstone.

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.

“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!” my daughter joked, and they all laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

I hung up the phone with shakin’ hands. Is this what I get? After sacrificin’ my entire life for them? After every diaper I changed, every tear I wiped away, every dream I put aside so they could have better? They’re countin’ the days until I’m gone and dividin’ up what I’ll leave behind?

I cried a lot that night in the hospital bed, but then my sadness was replaced with determination.

I’ve never been one to just sit and cry for long. After 74 years on this earth, you learn a thing or two about handlin’ tricky situations.

That very night, I asked the nurse for an extra pillow, drank all my water, and took my medicine without complaint. By the end of the week, I was sittin’ up. And by the end of the month, the doctor was surprised at how quickly I’d bounced back.

“You’re a fighter, Martha,” he told me with a smile.

“You have no idea,” I replied.

Once I was back in my room at the nursin’ home, I made some phone calls. First to my lawyer, then to my bank, and finally to my children.

“I need to talk to all of you about my will,” I told them. “I’m gettin’ old and after this scare, well, I want to make sure everything’s in order. Can you come to the nursin’ home this Saturday? Bring the grandkids and great-grandkids too. It’s important.”

Lord have mercy, you ain’t never seen folks drop plans so quick in your life.

Betty canceled a hair appointment. Thomas rescheduled a golf game. Sarah found a babysitter for her dog. And every last one of my grandkids suddenly had no plans for Saturday.

When Saturday arrived, I had the nurses set up chairs in the community room. As my family filed in, including some of whom I hadn’t seen in years, I sat at the head of the table. My attorney, Mr. Jenkins, sat beside me with a briefcase full of papers.

“Mama, you’re lookin’ so much better,” Betty said, kissin’ my cheek.

“Thank you for comin’, all of you,” I said, smiling sweetly. “I know how busy y’all are.”

I nodded to Mr. Jenkins, who opened his briefcase and pulled out a document.

“This is my will,” I explained. “It divides everything equally between my three children, with provisions for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” I paused, noticin’ how they all leaned forward slightly. “Mr. Jenkins will read it for you.”

As he read through the details about the house, the savings, the investments, and the life insurance, I watched their faces.

They looked relieved.

When he finished, Thomas said, “That sounds very fair, Mom.”

“I thought so too,” I nodded. “But then I realized it wasn’t fair at all.”

Their smiles faltered.

“Mr. Jenkins, please read the new will.”

He pulled out another document. “I, Martha, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath the following: To my children Betty, Thomas, and Sarah, I leave one dollar each. To each of my grandchildren, I also leave one dollar each.”

The room erupted in confused protests. Betty’s face turned red. Thomas stood up. And Sarah? She just started cryin’.

“What is this, Mama?” Betty demanded. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“But… but that’s our inheritance!” one of my grandkids blurted out.

“Is it?” I asked, my voice suddenly sharp. “Funny, I thought it was my money. Me and your grandpa worked hard for that money. Scrimped and saved every penny while y’all were too busy livin’ your lives to visit me more than five times in four years.”

The room went silent.

“I heard y’all, you know. Talkin’ about my cemetery plot and headstone. Laughin’ about payin’ for it with my inheritance. Did any of you ever think that maybe I wasn’t quite ready to be buried yet?”

Their faces showed shock. And then shame. Good.

“With what’s left of my money, I’m hirin’ a full-time caretaker, and I’m goin’ to see the Grand Canyon. And Paris. And all those places your father and I dreamed about but never saw because we were too busy raisin’ you and payin’ for your braces and your college and your weddings.”

I looked around at their stunned faces.

“Now, if y’all don’t mind, I’m feelin’ a bit tired. Gladys and I have bingo at four, and I need to rest up.”

After they left, Gladys wheeled herself over to me. “You really givin’ all your money to charity?”

I winked at her. “Most of it. Kept enough for those trips, though. Wanna come to the Grand Canyon with me?”

She grinned. “You bet I do.”

Now, I’m not tellin’ this story to suggest you shouldn’t be kind to your children. Lord knows I don’t regret a single moment I spent raisin’ mine. And I’m not sayin’ don’t leave them an inheritance either.

What I’m sayin’ is teach your children that love isn’t measured in dollars and cents. Teach them that you’re more than just what you can give them. And remember that bein’ kind doesn’t mean bein’ a doormat.

As for me? I leave for the Grand Canyon next month. Turns out, life’s too short to wait around for a headstone.

If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: I thought my aunt was my saving grace when she took me in after I lost my mother, a single parent. But little did I know that living with her would become a nightmare until a stranger came knocking on my sixteenth birthday and changed my life for the better!

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.