I turned 75 this year, and I imagined this stage of life would be warm—full of family and laughter. Instead, my birthday gift left me shaken.
I worked 45 years as a nurse, saving carefully to buy my modest home and build a small retirement fund. Over the years, I helped my son and his wife financially—home renovations, unpaid loans, even a vacation. But when I fell last year and needed help, my son told me I could “afford to hire someone.”
For my birthday, I invited them to dinner. Before leaving, my son handed me an envelope and told me to open it later. Inside wasn’t a card—it was a spreadsheet listing my house, jewelry, and savings, with notes about who should get what. It felt like they were dividing my life before I was even gone.
Two weeks later, I invited them back and calmly read my updated will. I’ve decided to leave everything to the elder care home where I volunteer.
My son was furious. I haven’t heard from them since.
Strangely, I feel lighter—but sometimes I still wonder if I went too far.
