Where There's a Will

      After working a trip to Europe, I had returned home a bit depressed. The impending war with Iraq was hovering over my airline’s future like a guillotine ready to drop. It was time to leave the job I so enjoyed for a paper-pushing career of some kind. My wife and I were seriously discussing an addition to the family, so this was no time to risk security for job satisfaction. I poured a glass of red wine and tried to relax on the sofa.

As I listened to the messages on our message machine, I realized my life would never be the same again. In one of the first messages, my mom told me of the passing away of my Aunt Mary. She was the sister of my late grandfather, and, while it was sad news, at 98, she had been suffering from many age related-illnesses. Mary was the only one who was allowed to call me Frankie, and while I appreciated her $5 checks on my birthdays, they were more of a hassle to cash.

The next message was from a lawyer stating that my brother, sister, and I were the sole beneficiaries in Mary’s will. I was touched that she had mentioned us, but shocked there weren’t any other relatives on the scene. She wasn’t rich, and I assumed that most of her money went to the nursing home where she had spent the final 20 years of her life.

The next message was from my brother yelling for joy. “Mary was a freakin’ multi-millionaire, and we are going to be stinkin’ rich!” Besides being tactless, it was the most beautifully disrespectful statement I had ever heard. Could this really be happening? This was the kind of thing you only saw in the movies. I tried calling the lawyer to confirm it, but it was Friday night, and I would have to wait until Monday morning to speak with him. My mother did add fuel to the fire, stating Mary’s late husband had purchased some land in North Dakota and also owned a great deal of Coca-Cola stock when it first came out. They kept it for use in their retirement years, but never cashed in. Her estate was estimated at $3.1 million.

The news was incredible; I was going to be wealthy. My mind raced through numerous scenarios. I could pay off my mortgage, buy a boat and another car, have lots of children, and not worry so much about the future. I poured more wine and sank into the possibilities dancing tantalizingly before me.

I called my wife and hinted the possibility of a fortuitous windfall, and, while mildly pleased, she was not in the hysterics that I had imagined her to be. Was it wrong to be so happy about benefiting from someone’s passing? Did I feel guilty now about not visiting her in the “Old Folks Home” for the past 10 years? No, a couple more glasses of wine rationalized away any hint of guilt. I had always prided myself on never selling out or putting a high regard on wealth. Health and loved ones were key in my life, but now I could have it all. This would provide the missing link in the chain of my life.

After the jubilation subsided, I began to worry. Taxes were sure to take a big share, and where was I going to invest without losing it? If I told my friends, would they treat me any differently? They would always expect me to pay for everything, and I would feel guilty about not doing so. My wife would want to spend it wildly, and I had better be careful, as money does odd things to people and relationships. In the course of a bottle of wine, the emotions of sorrow, jubilation, excitement, guilt, worry, greed, and panic had run their course, and I still had 50 hours to go until I could call the lawyer.

I tried not to think about it, but the more I tried, the less successful I was. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or write. Everything revolved around the will and various money scenarios. The weekend limped along in a slow and tortuous manner.

Monday didn’t arrive soon enough, and at the first possible moment I was on the phone to the lawyer.

“Yes, I do have some good news for you. Your great aunt’s estate was quite large. Your brother, sister, and yourself were the only specified people mentioned in the will.” He babbled on about certain legal information when all I wanted to hear was the bottom line. “She has left each one of you the amount of  $500, and it will be distributed to you in two months time.”

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it, that’s incredible…WHAT?” Did he say 500? That was at least three zeros short of what I was expecting. “Could you repeat that?”

“She has left each one of you the amount of five hundred dollars.”

“What happened to the rest of the estate?” I asked, trying not to seem like an unappreciative recipient.

“The rest was left to charity,” he replied.

“Charity? What charity?”

“A Buffalo Museum in North Dakota and a couple of others.”

My heart sank as I hung up the phone. My newfound riches and financial independence had just been yanked from my grasp. I smiled even though I felt like crying. I wanted to throw myself off the roof, and although it was winter, I went outside and collapsed in the hammock. For the last two days, I had sold out to the very emotions I had always been proud of avoiding. Maybe with this experience my aunt had taught me a number of important lessons, including:

1.       Never count your chickens before they hatch.

2.       Be thankful for what you get.

3.       The more you have, the more you worry.

4.       Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

5.       Never lie in a hammock in winter (I got a wicked cold).

It was back to poverty and worries about the future. I had a newfound dislike for buffalos, and unfortunately the items that I would have purchased with my inheritance lingered on in my mind. I was amazed at the amount of worry and greed that took place during the course of a weekend. I guess I should be very happy for the final kind thought of an aunt, the lessons she taught me, and a better understanding of how the human mind works.

I am grateful, but quite Frankly I’d take the money over the lesson any day!

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