My grandmother’s death was hard, but Mrs. Jenkins, her demanding neighbor, caused me more trouble. After I denied her unusual request to examine my grandma’s will, she staged a continuous standoff on my doorstep, forcing me to face her arrogance.
My grandmother died lately. Mrs. Jenkins, my grandma’s next-door neighbor, instigated this turmoil when I was grieving her loss. I’ll describe what occurred before getting to that portion.
My grandmother’s cancer diagnosis began it all. She declined therapy. She didn’t want chemo after seeing my grandfather suffer.
Although it was hard, we let her do what she wanted. If she didn’t want therapy, she avoided it.
Over the following year, she gave up her stuff. She invited all three of her children and their families over and asked them to state their wants.
“Here’s an open invitation for y’all,” stated. Choose anything from my house and take it home. Give me a list of your favorites.”
It felt like the perfect chance to take everything we wanted from her home, but we couldn’t. A few rules existed. Certain family treasures were for certain relatives. Everyone understood what they were and who they were for.
We never saw her cheerfully conversing with everyone again.
A few weeks later, she gently died in her sleep. We were sorry when she departed, but she found Grandpa, right?
Her will was quickly resolved after her death. Intelligent and independent, my granny managed everything.
My dad received her home, while his brothers received cash, jewelry, and other valuables, according to her will.
Because it was his boyhood home, Dad was delighted to move in.
“Every room reminds me of the good times we spent there,” he said. “I’ll redecorate the house and make it look exactly what it used to look like four decades ago.”
Unfortunately, destiny prevented him from executing his goals.
My father died two weeks after my granny.
Very abrupt. One day he was OK, the next he didn’t wake up.
My dad’s death shocked us all. His lawyer invited me to his office after his burial.
“Jacqueline, since you’re Mr. Parker’s only child, he left everything to you,” he continued. “Including the house he inherited from your grandmother two weeks ago.”
That was unexpected. The lawyer detailed my future actions for 30 minutes.
He probably realized I had little legal expertise, so he helped me with everything.
A month later, I was dragging boxes into Grandma’s home to put up closets and kitchen cabinets. Dad wanted the same home, so I moved in. It took me a few days to adjust, surrounded by grandma and father memories. I believed everything was settled, but I was incorrect.
A loud tap on the door the day after I unpacked almost scared me.
“Coming!” I remarked as I cleaned my hands with the kitchen island towel.
Grandma’s neighbor crossed her arms on my porch. Soon, I would call her “that entitled lady,” like my grandmother did.
“Hi,” I said.
“Who are you?” she said without greeting.
“I’m Jacqueline, and you?”
I recognized her. Mrs. Jenkins has two irritating grandkids.
“You must be Maureen’s grandchild. She claimed your grandmother promised me.
“Oh, really?” I requested. Genuinely surprised.
“I really wanted to see the will,” she added.
“The will? I informed Mrs. Jenkins it was family only.
“Your grandma loved my grandkids like her own, you know,” she said. “I just wanted to see the will to know if they’re going to get anything.”
I almost choked. Grandma always criticized those kids. They came over uninvited, filled their pool with her water, and called her ‘Grandma’ despite her warnings.
Mrs. Jenkins was audacious to urge her grandchildren to search the home for souvenirs. Not believing my hearing.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” I answered calmly, “my granny died four weeks ago. My dad died two weeks ago. Not the ideal moment.”
“My grandkids had their hearts set on some family heirlooms,” she said. “How long must I wait for our inheritance?! When they come, I want them to do their bit before leaving!”
I was confused. Why didn’t she understand that Grandma left nothing to her grandchildren? How was I to make her understand?
I felt offering to let them rummage through my donation bins was polite. Wow, she was outraged! You’d think I offended her whole family.
“Donation boxes?! We considered your grandmother family! We needed a will mention! Give it me! I must see!”
I reminded myself to breathe because I was upset. She and her grandchildren were my grandmother’s next-door neighbors and had never done anything special for her.
After repeatedly saying “no”, I shut the door in her face. Mrs. Jenkins continued.
She refused to leave my porch, saying I lied about the will. She believed Grandma left something for her and her grandchildren.
30 minutes passed, and she continued looking out the windows. I was tired. Then an idea struck. If she felt like family, she should share in the family’s problems, right?
I began writing with a pen and scratch paper. Once finished, I returned to the door.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” I said. She spun, perhaps thinking I’d changed my mind.
I gave her paper. “Here, if you truly are a part of the family, help ‘your’ family out, and then we can talk.”
I wrote something that almost made her eyes jump out. The bill covered her part of Grandma’s medical, legal, and funeral expenditures. It was high since Grandma had been unwell for a time and funerals are expensive.
Mrs. Jenkins gasped. “This is crazy!” she said.
I shrugged. “Crazy? Mrs. Jenkins, my grandmother died of cancer. You’d know medical and funeral costs were significant. You were so close to her, right?”
Stomped her foot like a toddler having a tantrum. This is crazy! Your granny would be embarrassed!”
The last straw. I was fed up with her entitlement and disregard for my family’s pain.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” I murmured quietly. Grandmother would be ashamed of you. She tolerated your antics for years out of courtesy, but she never considered you family. Please leave my property one final time. Unless you comply, I’ll report you for harassment to the police.”
Her face became crimson, purple, and ghostly white. She bolted from my doorstep without saying any more.
While watching her depart, I had mixed feelings. Bitterness at her boldness, grief for my grandma and father, and weird pride. I defended my family and memories.
I gazed around the home at the familiar things with so many tales. Each was part of my family’s history and should be carried forward. Their distribution wasn’t limited to privileged neighbors.
I grinned as I closed the door. Grandma was probably pleased of how I handled “that entitled lady.” In the warmth of family memories, I felt closer to her than ever.
If you liked this tale, try another: Judy must teach her teenage son a lifelong lesson after discovering that he has been stealing and spending his grandmother’s money for gaming.
“My grandkids had their hearts set on some family heirlooms,” she huffed. “How long am I supposed to wait for our share of the inheritance?! They’re coming over, and I want them to get their part before they leave!”
I was baffled. Why couldn’t she understand the fact that Grandma didn’t leave anything to her grandkids? How was I supposed to make her understand?
I thought I was being nice when I offered to let them look through the boxes I’d packed for donation. But oh boy, was she offended! You’d think I’d insulted her entire family tree.
“Donation boxes?! Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will! Give it to me! I have to see for myself!”
I was so frustrated at that point, so I reminded myself to breathe. I knew this woman and her grandkids were just next-door neighbors and had never done something extraordinary for my grandmother.
After telling her “no” several times, I finally shut the door in her face. But Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t done.
She refused to leave my porch, insisting I was lying about the will. She was convinced Grandma had left something for her and her grandkids.
About thirty minutes went by, and she kept peeking through the windows. I was getting fed up. Then, an idea hit me. If this lady thought she was part of the family, then she should share in all the family’s troubles too, right?
I simply took a pen and a scrap of paper and started writing. When I was done, I went back to the door.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” I called out. She whirled around, probably thinking I’d changed my mind.
I handed her the paper. “Here, if you truly are a part of the family, help ‘your’ family out, and then we can talk.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw what I’d written. It was a bill for her share of Grandma’s medical expenses, lawyer fees, and funeral costs. The number was pretty high – after all, Grandma had been sick for a while, and funerals aren’t cheap.
Mrs. Jenkins’ jaw dropped. “This is crazy!” she sputtered.
I shrugged. “Crazy? My grandma passed away because of cancer, Mrs. Jenkins. You’d know how high the medical and funeral expenses were. After all, you were so close to her, weren’t you?”
She stomped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “This is insane! Your grandmother would be ashamed of you!”
That was the last straw. I’d had enough of her entitlement and disrespect for my family’s grief.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” I said, my voice low and firm. “My grandmother would be ashamed of you. She put up with your nonsense for years out of politeness, but she never considered you family. Now, I’m asking you one last time to leave my property. If you don’t, I’ll call the police and report you for harassment.”
Her face went through a rainbow of colors: red, purple, then ghostly white. Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched off my porch.
As I watched her retreat, I felt a mix of emotions. Anger at her audacity, sadness for the loss of my grandmother and father, and a strange sense of pride. I’d stood up for my family and our memories.
I looked around the house, taking in all the familiar objects that held so many stories. Each one was a piece of my family’s history, meant to be cherished and passed down through generations. They weren’t just things to be handed out to entitled neighbors.
As I closed the door, I couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere, I was sure grandma was looking down, proud of how I’d handled “that entitled lady.” And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of family memories, I felt closer to her than ever.
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When Judy discovers that her teenage son has been stealing and using his grandmother’s money to satisfy his gaming addiction, she has no choice but to teach him a lesson that he will never forget.
