Everyone thought I got the short end of the stick when my grandfather died and left me nothing significant. But what they didn’t know was that what he gave me would one day make me the one they’d all come crawling to.
When my grandfather passed away, I was 20, the youngest of eight grandchildren. Unlike the others, I never gave a second thought to his money.
While all my relatives had busy lives and big plans, I was the one who showed up every weekend like clockwork to spend time with my grandfather. I genuinely enjoyed his company and would even go as far as calling him my best friend.
Grandpa Thomas and I filled our time together playing chess, or sometimes I cooked us dinner from his old recipe cards. I even sat patiently as he retold the same war stories, ones I could probably recite better than he could.
My cousins mocked me for it.Continue reading…
