Chapter 9 - THE MONEY GRANDMA WANTED ME TO USE
Two years after the funeral, my life looked different.
Not extravagantly different.
I kept my apartment for another year.
Then bought a small brick townhouse.
Cash down payment.
Modest mortgage.
I continued working.
People thought I was crazy.
“You have almost two million dollars.”
“No.”
“I have assets in a trust.”
Different.
“And I have a life.”
I used part of the available distributions to finish a graduate certificate in nonprofit financial management.
That surprised everyone.
Especially me.
Years of being lied to about money made me obsessed with understanding it correctly.
Eventually, I took a job with a nonprofit that helped older adults detect financial exploitation.
The first time someone introduced me as a program director, I nearly laughed.
Grandma would have understood.
Tyler and I became closer.
He moved out of Dad and Susan’s house.
Got an apprenticeship as an electrician.
Paid his own rent.
Complained constantly.
Healthy adulthood.
One evening, he came over carrying burgers.
“Remember what I said at the funeral?”
Unfortunately.
“If there’s fifty bucks in the passbook, burgers are on you.”
He placed the bag down.
“These are on me.”
I smiled.
“Growth.”
“Shut up.”
We ate at my kitchen counter.
Then Tyler asked:
“Do you hate Dad?”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
“That’s confusing.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to see him?”
“Not yet.”
Maybe someday.
Maybe never.
May you like
Love does not automatically create access.
Grandma taught me that too.
