The Angry Typist

A few weeks before our last conversation, out of nowhere Māmā asked me, “when I go, promise me that you will look after your brother Daniel.” I paused. “I cannot look after Daniel without money. I can only look after him if you provide the money to do so.” Without missing a beat Māmā replied, “don’t worry, the house is in your name, you can sell the house and use that money.”

***

BACKGROUND: After Bàba’s death, Māmā promoted me from 10-year-old daughter to her confidant, her BFF, her equal. And as such, I was ‘read-in’ on all the family dramas.

Like the time when DW was living with her mom & dad’s brownstone (my maternal grandparents). DW offered my grandparents that if they put the house in her name, she would take care of all the taxes & maintenance and they can live there rent free, worry free for as long as they wished. My grandparents did so and DW made the living situation so difficult, so hostile, so unbearable, that in their early 70s, my grandparents abandoned their home and moved into an apartment.

Or like the summer when I went to AIT at Ft. Lee, Virginia. DW had sponsored a Girl of some distant relative’s friend from China to live with her and her husband. DW’s master plan was for the Girl to learn how to use a loom and make money by weaving bolts of fabric night & day in their converted basement apartment. After a few months, DW had come to the reality that the Girl could not make enough money to even mitigate the expense of an extra mouth to feed so she told the Girl to get a job. But the Girl did not have a social security number to legally work in the United States. So DW started to badger Māmā for my social security number. Māmā, being Māmā, submitted to her demand. And if I had not been denied financial aid that first semester as a college freshman because allegedly I made too much money, I would never have discovered the betrayal. I confronted Māmā and she said DW was relentless, and it was just easier to give in because she didn’t see any harm in it … disregarding that it was illegal. I confronted DW and not only was DW not apologetic, but she screamed and yelled at me for my audacity to confront her. When I yelled back at how I am supposed to pay for the first semester of college, DW said, “I can only give you emotional support not financial support” and hung up on me.

So, when Māmā, Daniel, & DW decided to retire in a modest size ranch Māmā had bought outright, I was always prepared that if Māmā had died first, DW would be an unscrupulous grifter to contend with. Although DW had an MBA from Columbia University, she had never held full-time employment for more than 1-2 years at a time with long breaks between jobs while Māmā who didn’t even finished high school, worked for a fortune 500 company as an accountant clerk for over 35 years contributing to an IRA, 401k, and was eligible for a company pension. DW had always someone to leech off of. First it was her husband, then after his passing living off his pension and social security. And now it was Māmā. Māmā was DW’s walking credit card.

***

At the end of the funeral service DW offered, “Julie we can go to the bank right now and get the things from your mom’s safe deposit box. She wanted you to have it.” I squinted at her behind my sunglasses and rolled my eyes at her ignorance. “We cannot do anything without a death certificate” I replied dryly. “We can go to the bank right now; I have a copy of the Will” DW pushed on.

I took a deep breath and said with a hint of annoyance in my voice, “No DW, we cannot do anything until we have proof of death!” At which point the funeral director interrupted DW and confirmed that he must submit the paperwork to the state for a death certificate to be officially issued before anything can be done with any bank or any other accounts. “Oh, I don’t know how anything works” DW said and dropped it.

I had helped Daniel back into the grey SUV of the elderly transportation service. DW sat in the back and beckoned me over.

“Are you going to take Daniel with you?” DW asked.

“When?” I asked.

“Now! Are you taking Daniel back with you right now?” DW asked anxiously.

I bit my lip to control the profanity I wanted to unleash but I refrained. “No” I said shortly.

“WELL, when are you going to take him?” she demanded and before I can respond she continued in an interrogative tone. “You promised your mom that you would take him.”

I inspected this frail looking old women and realized that her greed did not diminish with age, it was just better camouflaged. “I cannot do anything without any money, and I will not do anything until I understand what is in the Will and the Trust.”

DW was ready with a response. “Your mom had life insurance. I can give you that money. I can give you $5,000 and you can take him.”

Legally, I understood that unless the Trust was the beneficiary of the life insurance, DW could not touch it and that she was simply enjoying the power, the control. She wanted to demonstrate how generous she was with Māmā’s money by ‘giving me’  what I was legally entitled to. I was raging on the inside but outside I was calm, firm, and did not back down. “Absolutely not. I am not intermingling funds without a full understanding of where it’s from and what it’s for. I do not want to accrue any tax burdens.”

DW seemed to finally acknowledged that she may have pushed too hard and retreated by saying, “Oh yes, of course, of course.”

“When will you come back?” DW pursued.

I said that I should be back in the area at the end of September and she was quick to ask, “oh you will take Daniel then?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh and said, “No. I am not doing anything until I have full understanding of what is in the Will and the Trust.”

DW had accepted her temporary lost and said, “you know that I love you? I love you. Do you know that?”

“I know” I responded without even looking at her and couldn’t leave the cemetery and that God-forsaken state fast enough.