Imagine if you will the absurdity of shipping 54lbs (24.5kg) of pictures.
That’s what is on its way to my house. Fifty-four pounds of pictures. My entire inheritance from my beloved (even when he didn’t deserve it) grandfather who passed away last year. There was something like a coup when it came to the will, largely because laws were things that my grandfather overlooked when convenient and that all his children used to their advantage when dealing with him. In short: the will that left things to his many grandchildren wasn’t legal because he never notarized it.
Let this be a lesson to you… get your Wills done right!
But that isn’t the whole story.
The Will was, more or less, a non-issue. My family has been fractured since well before I was born. My grandparents came from at least three different generations with my oldest grandmother being 73 when I was born and the youngest being in her late forties. My grandfather was in the middle of that, he was 49 when I was born, the very first grandchild and (I like to think) his favorite. But divorces and bad relationships already existed and it was obvious from the get-go that everyone was going to take what they could and run when he died.
By the time he died my grandfather was a multi-divorcee with a passel of kids and grandkids who he rarely spoke to. He had many good qualities and many skills, maintaining relationships was never one of them. But, for all that, I loved him. He was a great grandfather. He could show unlimited interest in everything I did for a day or two a year, give me a good meal, and then forget I existed. It worked out well.
When I lived in Texas I actually visited him almost monthly, bringing his only existing great-grandchildren in tow. He was a very good great-grandfather, very patient and very interested in listening to the ramblings of a 3yo. By the time my kids were born he had about the same energy as a toddler, sudden bursts of enthusiastic action followed by a good nap. He was one of the few relatives I could call and talk to without feeling stressed afterwards because he wanted very little. We talked about his garden, and the Texas wild flowers, and the new boat design he’d heard of.
His death wasn’t unexpected. He’d had three minor heart attacks, one heart surgery, and he stayed true to his European roots living off rye bread, beer, and cheese. He’d quit smoking many years before, but still lived to his late 80’s. He’d called me after he signed the DNR. He was tired of going to the doctor and worrying about his health. He wanted to live his life the way he enjoyed living. Buying a few more years by giving up what brought him joy didn’t make sense.
But I still have his number on my phone.
I have every text.
He was an avid texter who liked to send pictures from his daily walks.
But there was very little left when he died. He’d never been very much of a collector, and the small house was sold off, which left clothes (donated), and a few pieces of furniture (promised to friends), and the pictures.
Everything has settled and the relative handling everything is sending me that remains: 54lbs of pictures.