When my dad died, he left me his house. I told his wife that she could move in with her son or pay my rent with the $12,000 he left her. “This was my home for years,” she said. You should feel bad! I had no choice but to kick her out. It was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make. I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but all of a sudden I had to pay the bills, taxes, and fix things around the house. I gave her choices in the hopes that we could come to an agreement, but she refused all of them and stopped talking to me the day she moved out.
She didn’t say anything for years. Sometimes I felt like I hadn’t made the right choice. I thought about family meals, vacations, and how my dad smiled when he saw all of us together. It was already painful to lose him, but losing a link to someone he cared about made it even worse. Even though time went on, guilt would haunt me every once in a while, reminding me of that unfinished episode.
She called me yesterday and insisted on seeing me. She looked older, but calmer, and had a small package with her when she got there. I asked her how long she had been sad. She said it wasn’t just because she lost the house, but also because my dad had died. She said she wasn’t ready to talk about money or change at that time. There was a handwritten letter from my dad inside the package that I had never seen before. He thanked me for always taking care of him and said he trusted me with the house and hoped that one day we could all be at peace. It came with a small card from her that said, “Thank you for understanding.” “I’m ready to let go.”
She sighed and said she hoped life had been good to me as we stood in the quiet doorway. For the first time in years, we talked as friends instead of foes. We had both loved the same man and were dealing with loss in different ways. I felt a weight lift off my heart when she left. Closure doesn’t always happen at the right time or with the right choices. Sometimes it comes when we are finally ready to forgive, move on, and respect the past with grace.
