My son put me here, took my house for his dog.
“Ah.” Margaret nodded knowingly. Family betrayal. I’m here because my daughter-in-law convinced my son that I was becoming difficult to manage. Apparently, asking questions about where my late husband’s life insurance money went makes me difficult.
Despite everything, I found myself sitting up.
What do you mean?
Margaret began unpacking with efficient movements. I’m a retired lawyer, Bula. 45 years of practice. When my husband died last year, there should have been a substantial life insurance payout.
Instead, my son claimed there were complications and only a small amount came through. When I asked to see the paperwork, suddenly I was suffering from dementia and needed supervised care.
She pulled out a thick file folder and set it on her nightstand.
The thing about being a lawyer is you never really retire. You just get more selective about your cases.
Are you investigating your own son?
I’m protecting my own interests. Margaret corrected. Something you might want to consider doing.
I shook my head. There’s nothing to investigate. Randall was honest about what he wanted. My house for his dog.
Margaret paused in her unpacking and fixed me with a sharp stare.
Bula, whose name is on the deed to your house?
Mine, of course. It was mine and my husband’s. And when Robert died, it became just mine.
And your son just assumed he could move you out and move himself in.
When she put it like that, it did sound rather presumptuous.
He said I needed care.
Do you need care?
I thought about it honestly. I was managing fine. I mean, I’m not as spry as I used to be. But I was taking care of my sister in Florida for 2 months.
If I can take care of someone else, I can certainly take care of myself.
Margaret sat down on her bed facing me.
Bula, in my experience, when family members rush elderly relatives into care facilities while taking control of their homes, there is usually more to the story.
What do you mean?
Has your son ever asked about your will, your finances, whether you’ve made any provisions for long-term care?
I frowned, trying to remember. He asked a few months ago if I’d considered what would happen to the house when I die. Said he wanted to make sure everything was taken care of.
And what did you tell him? That the house would go to him?
Naturally, he’s my only child.
Margaret nodded slowly. So, he knows he’ll inherit the house eventually. The question is, why couldn’t he wait?
That stung.
Maybe he just wanted me to be safe.
Maybe, Margaret agreed. Or maybe he wanted the house now while he could enjoy it.
How old is your son, Bula?
Old enough to have his own life, his own home. old enough to wait for his inheritance like the rest of us had to do.
Margaret leaned forward.
Tell me, did he ever offer to move in with you? Hire a home health aid, install one of those medical alert systems?
I realized that no, he hadn’t. None of those options had been discussed. It was straight from mom needs help to mom needs to be in a nursing home.
The house must be worth a fair amount. Margaret mused. 43 years of ownership probably paid off.
Oh yes, Robert and I paid it off years ago, and the neighborhood has really improved. The realtor who sent me Christmas cards every year always said it was worth around 300,000.
Margaret’s eyebrows shot up.
300,000? Bula, that’s serious money. Enough to change someone’s life significantly.
I’d never thought of it that way. To me, it was just home, the place where I belonged.
Tell me about this dog, Margaret said.
Duke, a German Shepherd puppy. Nola, that’s my daughter-in-law, said he needed a big yard.
German Shepherds are expensive dogs, especially if they’re buying from a breeder. Could cost several thousand.
Several thousand.
I couldn’t hide my shock.
For a dog, if it’s a showquality puppy with papers, absolutely. Plus training, veterinary care, premium food. We’re talking about a serious financial commitment.
I thought about Randall’s job at the insurance company. He made decent money, but not enough for such extravagances. At least not the Randall I thought I knew.