Sometimes we sat together watching television.
On bad days, she didn’t want to speak much.
I would bring her tea, straighten the blanket over her knees, and sit beside her.
I never asked about her estate.
I knew she had assets, but I didn’t know their value.
I assumed whatever she’d accumulated would eventually be divided among the family.
And despite everything, I was comfortable with that.
I didn’t need Nana’s money to know she loved me.
During one of our last long conversations, she asked me something unusual.
“If I left you something important, would you let your father decide what to do with it?”
I looked up.
“Nana?”
“Answer the question.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I hesitated.
“Because he doesn’t listen to me.”
She nodded.
“And would you feel guilty?”
I considered lying.
But Nana had always been able to tell.
“Probably.”
“Then that’s something you need to work on.”
