I suppose at this time I should explain a few things. They did not have a family, and the two of them really did love their money. And they were good at making it. Dorothy had been no dummy, she worked ALL her life, at an outside job that she kept for more than forty years, and she had a tax service that she built up over the years. He was a great business man, and a great engine builder, and he know how to save and they had a lot of money. Alot. At the time that I am speaking of, there was more than eight hundred thousand in cash in their accounts. They had land that Walmart wanted, and I suppose by now it may have already sold, but the amount being tossed around was seven hundred thousand. This was just what I knew about. To me, at least, that was and still is alot of money.
I want to explain something to you here: his money never did make any difference to me. I learned a long time ago, that it couldn't do anything of any real importance, certainly not keep anyone from being lonely, it couldn't love you back, it can't save your life. It just was his money. My mother has always said to me "at least your father will be able to leave you something of value, considering the piss-poor father that he has been to you all your life". That really held no weight with me.
So, back to the story: My father really didn't believe that he was going to die. I know he didn't. I really couldn't either, but what I saw when I visited said otherwise. Sometime around Thanksgiving, my dad and D went back to the lawyer to sign the papers. Once again, Sarah took them, so I know I get the correct information. When they got there, the lawyer presented Dorothy with the papers that he had drawn up for her first. She went ballistic.....accusing her sister of wanting her money, accusing me of the same thing. This reaction took my father by completely by surprise...as I said before....they had discussed this previously. So, they left the attorney's office at that time. Nothing had been handled, nothing had been signed.
Throughout the month of December I visited as often as I could. The holidays were fast approaching. I knew that things were not looking good for my dad. The doctors reports were not good. H and I went to see him on Christmas night. I will never forget even one little minute detail of that evening, as long as I live. He was sick. I mean, really sick. He had waited for my arrival all day, H and I got there about six pm. He was unable to get out of bed, and had in fact fallen several times trying. I sat down on the floor beside him, and he put his huge, huge, huge bony hand on the top of my head. I was crying. He looked at me for a long time. He said "you know I love you, right?"
I answered "Yes. And you know how I feel about you, is that right"?
He shook his head that he did. He said "do you have any money?" I said I did, and asked if he needed some. He laughed and said "no...you little shit, you know what i mean." I did know what he meant...he was always trying to give me money. I told him I didn't need any. He fell asleep. I sat there and cried for a long while. I knew I would never talk to him again.
I was right. On the Monday after Christmas in 2004, he was transferred to the nursing home, he was too ill to get up. I made one more trip down to visit on Wednesday of that week. I stayed two days, he never woke up. He died on the first day of January, 2005, at nine that morning. It broke my heart, and I mostly hoped that he had made his life right with God before he went to meet him.
To be continued.....
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