Today is an appropriate day to post this story of an 85 year old mother forgotten by his 4 sons on her 85th birthday. Also today, 40 invitations to my 90th BD have been printed. Because of limited space in the ClubHouse Apartments ( venue of BD) of my Daughter Dinah, I am not too happy that I will only be able to invite 9 of my THD friends to my 90th BD celebration Lunch ( 12-4PM) on Saturday, December 21, 2024 in Dublin. CA. I have more than 20 friends here at THD ( My Bridge and Mahjong buddies) but I will only be able to invite only 9 of them. It will not be an easy task, but I will manage.
I am indeed very happy of the on-scheduled preparation for my coming BD, but the following story from my FaceBook page the other day, made me shed a tear or two. The story touches my heart and I am still crying reposting this article.
Here's the story for our younger generation to remember. Please call/email or preferably visit the Elderly(Your Parents/Grandparents) once in while in spite of your busy lives.
Here's the story:
"Isabel Fernández had reached 85 years of age with the peace of mind of having lived a full life. Widowed for more than two decades, she had raised her four children, but over time, family ties began to fray.
Her children, now adults, had started families of their own, absorbed in their busy lives, and visits to their mother had become increasingly sporadic.
Her 85th birthday was approaching, an occasion that Isabel was especially looking forward to. She thought that maybe this time her children would come to celebrate with her, just like they did when they were little.
She had organized a small party at her house, bought a cake, and prepared several traditional dishes that she knew her children loved. She didn't need a big celebration, she just wanted the company of her family. She had sent invitations to each of her children, hoping they would understand how important that day was to her.
On Her Birthday.
The day arrived, and with it, silence. The table was set, the candles lit, but the chairs remained empty. Isabel waited patiently, looking at the clock every now and then, convinced that one of her children would appear.
However, the afternoon passed, and night fell without anyone passing through the door. Not a call, not a message. Isabel sat alone at the table, contemplating the untouched cake and the dishes she had prepared with so much love.
With a sadness that she could not hide, she blew out the candles on her own and, without saying a word, put away everything she had prepared. That night, as she tried to fall asleep, the pain in her heart was palpable.
It wasn't just the loneliness, but the fact that those to whom she had dedicated her entire life couldn't find a moment for her.
The next morning, she woke up with a different feeling. She decided that she wouldn't wait any longer. She had something to do, and she knew that, although her children did not value her in life, she would leave them a lesson that they would never forget.
The unexpected change.
A few months later, Isabel passed away peacefully in her bed. Her departure did not surprise anyone, since her advanced age already foreshadowed a near end. However, what did surprise everyone was the will she left behind.
Her children, who for years had been distant and busy with their own lives, gathered in the family lawyer's office, waiting to hear what many took for granted: that their mother's fortune would be divided equally between them.
At the front of the room, the lawyer, a middle-aged man named Julián García, with a serious face, began to read the will. Silence took over the place when, one by one, Isabel's children listened to their mother's words, but what they heard was not what they expected.
"My dear children," the lawyer began, reading Isabel's words, "I have spent my last years hoping to see in you the love and unity that we once shared.
I understand that life has taken you on different paths, but I cannot ignore the pain I have felt in the moments when I have needed you most and you were not there. On my last birthday, when I sat alone waiting for you, I understood that time is not something that can be recovered."
Her children's faces began to show signs of discomfort. Each of them remembered that day with some shame, but none of them had thought that their mother would take that incident so seriously.
The lawyer continued reading: "I always wanted the best for you, but I have also learned that the true value of a family is not in material goods, but in love and time shared. Therefore, I have decided that my house, the one in which you grew up and that I know you value so much, will not be divided among you. Instead, I have left instructions that it be donated to an organization that cares for lonely elderly people, so that there they can find the comfort and affection that I do not. received in my last years."
Isabel's children were speechless. The house was the most valuable asset their mother owned, and neither of them had imagined that their mother would use it for a charitable cause. They felt a mixture of disbelief and regret, but that was not all.
"As for my money," the lawyer continued, "I have decided that part of it will go towards the education of my grandchildren, so that they can have opportunities and learn what really matters in life. The rest will be donated to various causes charitable, those that take care of those most in need, something that has worried me deeply in my last years."
The final blow was forceful. Not only had they lost the house, but most of the money wasn't going to go to them either. His mother's will was loaded with a profound lesson: true legacy is not measured in assets, but in the acts of love and compassion that are passed on to others.
The weight of decisions.
After the reading of the will, the four brothers looked at each other in silence, unable to process what they had just heard. They had spent their entire lives assuming that their mother would always be there, not realizing what they had lost in the process. Their mother had not only left them a void in material terms, but a lesson that now resonated painfully with each of them.
The following months were marked by regret. One by one, the brothers began to realize the value of the small moments they had missed, the conversations they never had, and the hugs they didn't give. Isabel's legacy was not in her house or her money, but in the profound teaching that family love cannot be bought or postponed.
The home that was once theirs now housed other elderly people who, like Isabel, had spent their last days in solitude. Every time they passed by the house, Isabel's children remembered the day they did not attend her birthday and how that absence had cost them more than they could have ever imagined.
In that final act of generosity, Isabel had left an indelible mark on her children, a lesson that, although painful, taught them the value of time, love and the presence that they had forgotten to offer".
2 comments:
I just had my 90th, surrounded by my kids, so I fully empathize with your message, David: many thanks.
Hello David,
Carol and I just finished reading the sad story of the mother fogotten and left alone on her 85th birthday, It was heartrending to learn of the cold and unloving hearts of her four sons!
Regarding the mother's response, as noble as it undoubedly was--to leave her home and most of her money for the benefit of charities and other lonely and abandoned elders, strikes us as bitter and retaliatory on her part.
I am not saying that the children should have received the estate--it was the mother's absolute right to bequeath it, however and to whomever she chose. Rather, I find it sad that the mother, it appears, did not share her hurt and disappointment with her family in an effort to move their hearts to a loving place toward her.
I am so grateful for the loving persuasion my mother exercised to motivate me to love a family friend who lived close to me in San Francisco for years, but whom I never called or visited because I hated her, and was afraid of what I perceived to be her dogmatic and critical manner toward me.
Here is the story: My mother had a family friend named Johanna, nicknamed Hansi, whom she had known ever since her childhood in
Vienna, Austria. Hansi's mother, Paula, although not a blood relative of my Moms, was like an aunt to her. Both Paula's family and my Mom's family left Vienna in the 1930's to escape the Nazis and eventually settled in San Francisco.
My Mom lived with "Aunt Paula" and her husband in San Francisco for 7 years, prior to her marriage to my Dad in 1946. During those years, Hansi, Paula's daughter was out of the home and was a teacher, first in Oakand and, later, in Templeton, a small coastal California town. Hansi visited her parents frequetnly, and thus my Mom's friendship with her florished.
The relationship continued once I and my brother Stephen were born and we moved to Berkeley. Hansi had a stern, strict, and, to me, a very critical demeanor, and, from childhood up into my early adult years, I dreaded any and all visits we had with Hansi. In truth, I was afraid of her rebukes and chastizement and, frankly, wanted to avoid her at all costs.
When I was in my mid twenties, I moved to a residence club in San
Francisco 4 blocks from the apartment house where Paula and her family lived since they first arrived in San Francisco. Paula died several years after I had moved to the City, leaving Hansi alone in the apartment.
Even though Hansi was now living alone, I neither visited nor called her even though I was living close to her. One afternoon, my mother called me to express her unhappiness with and disappointment in me for so neglecting Hansi. I was cut to the core by my hateful attitude!
So, after the phone conversation with my mother that day, I called Hansi. She answered the phone. I told her how genuinely sorry I was for having been so uncaring and neglectful of her for so long. Hansi was touched, told me how much she appreciated my humility, and invited me to her home for dinner.
Hansi and I had a wonderful conversation that night and thus began a wonderful friendship that lasted for more than 20 years, until Hansi's death. She and I would converse on the phone every Thursday evening and I would visit her from time to time. After my marriage to Carol, of which she was very supportive, the friendship became a threesome, with Carol and me visiting her quite often. By the time of our marraige, Hansi had moved from San Franciscco to a senior living community in Oakland.
To this day, I am so grateful for my Mom's admonition that long-ago afternoon, which enabled me to have a loving relationship with someone who needed and valued friendship. Otherwise, like the sons in the story you shared today, I might well have lived with regret for the rest of my life due to the loss of an opportunity to love. John Larimore
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