I have been debating recently whether to call my brother and ask him directly if he is planning on keeping all of my parents’ estate. I have been hesitating, partly because I’m not sure I want to hear the answer and partly because I have absolutely no desire to speak to him. In the end I decide I need some closure on the issue so I pick up the phone.
He answers in his old man voice (he isn’t much older than me but he sounds like he’s 80) with his weird hello that somehow sounds like part statement and part question. I cut straight to the chase (because did I mention I don’t really want to talk to him?) and ask him if he’s planning on keeping all of dad’s money. Even though my dad died first we both know this was my dad’s lifetime accumulated wealth.
He replies, “Well, you can call it dad’s money.”
Oh boy, this is NOT going to go well. Yeah, right so back to the question. He launches into a long-winded speech about probate and final tax returns and how long these things take.
“I’m aware of that, but that wasn’t the question,” I point out.
Again he regales me with a story about how he now realizes why it took so long for my dad and his siblings to settle their brothers’ estates when they died. You know, because it takes a REALLY long time.
“That wasn’t the question,” I state again.
He now realizes he can’t evade the question so he says he hasn’t made any decisions yet. Well, that’s about what I expected. He refuses to tell me how much money was still in the bank when my mom died and laughs at me when I tell him the house is worth a minimum of $1.5 million. I have not pulled this number out of thin air. This is based upon sales in the area (provided by my cousin who is a real estate agent) and the fact that this house has a lot four times the size of any of those other houses. And pretty much NO house in the Toronto area sells for under a million even if the lot is the size of a postage stamp.
So I have hit a brick wall but decide to take one last sledge hammer swing at it. I remind him that he has never compensated me a single penny for the tens of thousands of dollars I have spent on therapy thanks to the sexual abuse he perpetrated upon me throughout our childhood. I have been asking him for this money for at least the last 15 years to no avail. This is truly a hail Mary pass but what do I have to lose at this point?
Much to my shock he pauses and says, “Well I’ve been thinking about that.”
Um, WHAAAAT? I think he’s been abducted by aliens.
“I feel bad about that and so I want to offer you some money.”
“You feel bad about what exactly?” I ask. I want to hear him say it. I want him to name it. I want him to own it.
“Well, you know……what happened.”
At this point I literally laugh out loud. I ask him if he knows what kind of courage it takes to walk into a therapist’s office and say out loud that you’ve been sexually abused as a child. I tell him his apology is rather empty when he can’t even verbalize what he’s apologizing for.
This, of course, is greeted with silence. He says I can call him gutless and a coward (oh believe me, I’ve called you worse than that bud) for not having done anything about it until now but he wants to give me some money. He names a sum.
Again, I laugh out loud. I tell him that barely covers the therapy I’ve had to date and doesn’t even touch future therapy needs. He digs his heels in and adopts a take it or leave it attitude. I can actually see his mulish face in my mind’s eye. *Shudder*
I tell him again it’s rather a hollow gesture when he gets to name the sum and it’s only about half of what it should be. The old man reiterates his stance.
Well then, I guess I’ll take it.
The cheque has since shown up in the mail and I’m not really sure how I feel about it. It is not an insignificant amount of money to me, but to him it is likely chump change. Someone who has mooched off of his parents and never paid a single penny to live in his entire life has to have quite a fortune amassed by now.
A part of me is disappointed that the issue of the money from the estate is still up in the air, mostly because when I hung up that phone I wanted it to be the last time I ever had to talk to him. I just want to be done with him. I want him to crawl back under his rock and never come slithering around me again.
If in the future he decides to give me some money from the estate I just want to open up my mailbox one day and find a certified cheque for a massive amount. I don’t want to have to listen to him pretending to be magnanimous. I don’t want to listen to him at all.
I don’t know what he’ll eventually decide and I don’t have any control over it. All I know is that I can look in the mirror and say that I have acted within my values. I have conducted myself with integrity and maintained my boundaries. I lost one night of sleep over it and then I let it go. I am proud of myself that I now have the emotional maturity and groundedness to do so. My priorities are clear and spending a lot of energy on this isn’t one of them.
As my best friend pointed out, he may have money but he hasn’t got any of the things that really matter. His is a lonely and painful existence while I am blessed to be surrounded by love and kindness. Inheritance or not, life is good. It really is.
