I’m Amelia, and a few weeks back, I lost my dad after a long struggle with his health.
I often catch myself wishing I could have introduced him to his grandchildren, a thought that brings a heavy sigh.
Six years ago, at 35, I got married. During that joyful day, my dad and I made a heartfelt promise. I would tell him first if I was expecting.
Sadly, that’s a promise I’ll never fulfill, and it’s my biggest regret concerning my dad.
His sickness was diagnosed a year ago, and since then, I’ve put all my effort into being there for him. I visited my childhood home more often, spent numerous hours at the hospital alongside my mom, and made sure to call or video chat even more frequently.
Despite all this, I sometimes wonder if it could have been enough.
“I could have done more,” I whispered, lost in thought.
My mom, always supportive, comforted me.
“Amelia, you did everything you could. Your dad knew that, and he was proud.”
Just then, my sister Freya walked in, followed by a man I guessed was around 48, presumably the lawyer.
“This is Jack, the attorney,” she introduced him, and my mom quickly offered him a seat.
As soon as we all settled down, Freya couldn’t help herself.
“The lawyer mentioned Dad left us a significant inheritance.”
I couldn’t help but respond.
“Freya, you know it’s not all yours.”
That exchange set the mood instantly.
My sister and I have had a rocky relationship, worsened by our dad’s illness. Her refusal to visit our dad, despite my attempts to bridge the gap between them, didn’t help matters.
Her attitude has always been a barrier, and it only grew more pronounced during these tough times.
In hindsight, my words to my sister might have been a bit too sharp, fueled by my concern for our father. However, her response didn’t help the situation either.
“You’re a grown-up. There’s no need to be so obstinate,” I pointed out.
To which she snapped back, “I’m not being obstinate. Living in the city and traveling to the countryside isn’t as simple as you think.”
“It’s just a three-hour drive,” I countered.
But she argued, “Those three hours are not just about time. It costs money, and yes, money is important to me. I’m busy, so please just stop nagging me.”
That marked the end of our conversation.
Despite the distance, I always believed she could make an effort to visit now and then. This belief was a major factor in the swift decline of our relationship.
Ultimately, she never visited our father, and the rift between us only deepened.
The tension in the room grew until the lawyer stepped in, suggesting we all take a moment to calm down.
“I’m sorry,” I said, offering an apology, which seemed to ease the atmosphere slightly.
The lawyer then explained, “As I mentioned over the phone, I’m here regarding your father’s will.”
My mother, puzzled, whispered, “When was this arranged?”
The lawyer replied, “A few weeks before he passed, your father reached out to me.”
“He asked you to come to the hospital?” my mother asked.
“Yes. I drafted the will there with him, in the presence of his primary doctor. It was arranged that the doctor would notify me upon your father’s passing, which is why I contacted you now,” the lawyer clarified, pulling out a white envelope and placing it before us.
Recognizing my father’s handwriting on the envelope, I whispered, “That’s definitely Dad’s handwriting.”
Freya, visibly impatient, demanded, “Just get on with it. What does it say? You know I’m busy.”
The lawyer, with a hint of a smile, opened the envelope.
Inside, there was a single piece of paper outlining the inheritance: the house, land, some savings, and a storage shed.
We were aware of the house and land, but the mention of a storage shed was new to me.
My sister, frustrated, turned to the lawyer.
“Wait. What about the farm?”
“The farm?” the lawyer echoed, a bit surprised.
“Yes, the farm Dad used to work on as a hobby,” I explained.
Our father had run a successful business in a nearby town but decided to slow down after turning 52, considering closing the company to spend more time on his hobbies, including the farm.
This new mention of the farm added another layer of complexity to our father’s legacy and what he left behind.
During my high school years, I remember expressing a desire to take things a bit slower in life. My sister, who was attending college at the time, didn’t agree with this laid-back approach.