Taken for granted

There was something in the wind that told her it was time. She sat down on a white wicker chair out in her beloved garden and began to think. The smell of Jasmine wafted through the air and she remembered her beloved husband holding her hand and strolling along through the neighbourhood on sultry summer afternoons. She smiled, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before she would see his handsome face and she wondered whether he would be the same as when she last saw him, or whether or not he would be his younger handsome self. She pondered the thought of how she too might look upon their reunion and she hoped she would be the beautiful, raven haired temptress that had once swept him off her feet. Anything was possible she supposed. She picked up a glass of fragrant smelling gin and breathed in the aroma. Slowly, she sipped on the floral notes and closed her eyes, relaxing into the way it brought a sense of temporary joy. Placing the glass gently back on the table, she looked around at all that she had and thought about what was to come. 

And then, she picked up the pen and began to write.

                                23rd May, 2020

        Dear Family,

    I find myself here, in my final days, pondering the life I have lived. I wasn’t always old. People once found me to be quite the conversationalist and the entertainer. And yet, over the past ten or so years, since my husband (your father and grandfather) passed on, I have become nothing but a burden to you all. In a vain attempt to remain part of your lives, I have called you on birthdays, sent gifts, invited you around for tea, and inquired about your lives in the hopes of staying connected to you. In return, I have been given the cold shoulder by you all. My attempts at building and maintaining a relationship with each of you have failed. And so, as I sit here reflecting on my life, knowing that I am not long for this world, I have made a list of the things that I value most and I have given them to those who I think truly deserve them. People who have taken the time and effort to show me kindness in my last years. Already, I have given most of my important and valuable offerings away. I shall not be listing the benefactors of these items, including the house, as it really isn’t any of your business what I do with my belongings before I die. Just know that everything has already been gifted, prior to my death. If you have not received anything yet, then know that you have not been forgotten….for here, in this letter, is the final thing I have left to give. My final gift is my advice, to you all. 

Never again take anyone for granted. 

Each person, no matter how insignificant you may feel their worth is, is a person. They have feelings, they have love to give and they deserve love in return. I am hoping that this letter, and my actions, will go a long way in teaching you this valuable lesson. Do not take anyone for granted. We are each, yourselves included, important and it is time you recognise this. Please, never treat each other the way you have treated me. Nobody deserves to go through lives thinking they are someone else’s burden.

All my love,

Thelma

Two weeks later, the family had arrived, upon hearing that her last days were upon them. 

She laid in the darkened room staring at the usual suspects who had gathered like vultures of death, hovering and waiting. For years she had yearned for their attention, only to be fobbed off with brief conversations, initiated by her and ended by them, leaving her lonely and longing for meaningful connections. But now, at the end of the road, they sat there.

She felt the cold seep through the room. Was it death? Or was it the vibes coming from them, pretending to care in her final moments. It seemed it was Death's night off for they were all silently waiting for something that never seemed to come. 

As she waited, she thought not of the loved ones in the room but of the places she'd never visit, the things she'd never done with her life and now it was too late. She knew it was taboo to have so many regrets, knowing she should be thankful for the life she had. 

She stared at the faces who were willing her to go gently into the darkness and she realised, in her final moments, how powerful she really was. She finally had them altogether, had their attention, had their time. And so, she hung on with every strength of her being, for days. Just because she could, and because for once they were there...her captive audience. 

And, although her mumblings were often now slurred and her thoughts disconnected, no one rushed off or fobbed her off. She died happily, knowing that for once they had finally stayed and listened.

After the funeral, the family gathered once again with the lawyer to hear the reading of the will. The lawyer took out a manilla folder, placing it carefully on the table. The family sat silently as the lawyer explained that prior to writing her will, Mrs Thelma Buchanan had undertaken a psychological exam to prove her compos mentis. He read out the report which explained that Mrs Buchanan was in fact in control of her thoughts and posed no danger in the writing of her will. The confused looks on the family's faces amused the lawyer, but they remained silent, waiting for the actual will to be read out. Instead, the lawyer produced a beautiful envelope which carried the scent of her perfume. Her fine penmanship could be easily recognised on the envelope. He carefully opened the envelope and read it out loud to the eagerly awaiting family, who were soon to be bitterly disappointed.