Mr. Harris called the following Monday.
He wanted to review a few remaining documents with me.
I arranged to meet him at his office.
When I arrived, he had a folder on his desk.
"How are you settling into the apartment, Dolores?"
"Very well, thank you."
"I'm glad."
He opened the folder.
"There are a few administrative matters concerning the estate. Nothing urgent, but I want to make sure everything is clear."
We reviewed the accounts.
He explained the records of the business sale, the investments, and the arrangements Walt had made.
I asked a few questions.
He answered them without rushing.
Then he placed a separate envelope on the desk.
"This was included with the documents Walt left with me."
I recognized his handwriting.
My name was written across the front.
I looked at Mr. Harris.
"Another letter?"
"Yes. He asked me to give it to you after the estate arrangements had been explained and you had settled into your own home."
I ran my finger over the envelope.
"Did he tell you what was inside?"
"No. He only gave me instructions about when to deliver it."
I opened it carefully.
The paper inside was folded twice.
Walt's handwriting was familiar enough that I could almost hear his voice.
"Dear Dolores,
If you are reading this, I hope you have found a place where you can sit without feeling that you are in anyone's way.
I hope you have a kitchen where you can make your tea and a window where you can watch the morning.
I hope you have begun to understand that your life did not end when mine did.
I know you will worry about the children.
You always have.
You will wonder whether Michael understands, whether Stephanie has forgiven herself, and whether Danny is working too hard.
You will want to fix every problem before anyone asks.
Please don't.
You did enough for all of us.
The children are grown. They will make mistakes. They will have to learn from them.
Let them.
I want you to remember something about the money.
It is not a test they must pass, and it is not a prize they must earn by making you happy.
It is simply money.
Use it to live well.
Use it to make choices.
Use it to protect your peace.
If you decide to help one of the children, do it because you want to and because it is wise.
If you decide not to help, do not spend the night punishing yourself.
You are allowed to say no.
You are allowed to enjoy what we worked for.
And you are allowed to be happy even when someone else is disappointed.
I loved our small house.
I loved our old car.
I loved the chipped mug you refused to replace.
But none of those things were the important part.
The important part was that we had a life together.
I would not want you to spend the rest of yours trying to keep every piece of it exactly where I left it.
Take care of yourself, Dolores.
That is the last thing I am asking you to do.
Walt."
I finished reading.
For a while, I could not speak.
Mr. Harris quietly pushed a box of tissues toward me.
I took one.
"I knew he had written letters," I said. "I didn't know there was another one."
"He wanted you to have it at the right time."
I folded the paper.
"Thank you."
Mr. Harris closed the folder.
"Your husband was very thoughtful."
"Yes."
"He was also very clear about his wishes."
I smiled faintly.
"He always was."
We finished the remaining paperwork.
Before I left, Mr. Harris reminded me that I could contact him if I needed help reviewing any future financial decisions.
I thanked him.
Outside, the afternoon was bright.
I sat on a bench near the office and read Walt's letter once more.
Then I placed it in my handbag.
I did not call any of the children immediately.
I wanted a little time with it.
That evening, I made dinner for myself.
Nothing complicated.
Soup, bread, and a small salad.
I ate beside the window.
Afterward, I called Danny.
He answered quickly.
"Hi, Mom."
"I received another letter from your father."
"Another one?"
"Yes."
"Was it for you?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
I smiled.
"He told me to take care of myself."
Danny was quiet.
"That sounds like Dad."
"It does."
"Are you okay?"
"I am."
He asked whether I wanted to come over the next day.
I told him I would.
The following afternoon, I went to Danny's apartment.
The boys were playing with toy cars on the new couch.
Kayla was preparing vegetables.
Danny was repairing a loose hinge on one of the kitchen cabinets.
I sat at the table.
He came over and wiped his hands.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good."
I took the letter from my bag.
"Your father left me something important."
Danny looked at the folded paper.
"Do you want to read it?"
"Not yet. I want to tell you what it said."
I explained the letter.
I told him Walt wanted me to stop worrying about everyone else's decisions.
Danny listened.
When I finished, he nodded.
"He's right."
I laughed.
"Your father usually was."
Danny pulled out a chair.
"Mom, you know you don't have to take care of all of us."
"I am learning that."
He looked toward the boys.
"They'll be fine."
"I know."
"And if we need something, we'll ask. You don't have to guess."
I reached across the table and touched his hand.
"Thank you."
He shook his head.
"You're welcome."
Kayla brought over a plate of sliced apples.
She sat with us.
We talked about ordinary things.
A school project.
A car Danny was working on.
A neighbor who kept leaving rubbish near the stairs.
No one asked about the estate.
No one asked about the letters.
For a little while, I forgot that there was money waiting in accounts and documents in a lawyer's office.
I was simply a mother having dinner with her family.
Later, when I returned to my apartment, I placed Walt's final letter in the drawer beside his reading glasses.
I had kept the glasses.
I had kept the chipped mug.
I had kept the photograph from our anniversary.
But I no longer felt that I had to keep the old house forever.
The next morning, I called a real estate agent.
I asked for an appointment to discuss selling it.
I did not make the decision because I was tired of the memories.
I made it because I was ready to stop maintaining an empty house.
The agent came two days later.
We walked through the rooms.
She asked about the roof, the heating, and the age of the kitchen.
I answered what I could.
Then she asked whether I had a price in mind.
I told her I wanted a fair price and a careful buyer.
She said she would prepare an estimate.
After she left, I stood in the kitchen one last time.
The chipped mug was gone.
The photographs were gone.
The old work jacket had been given to Danny.
The rooms looked bare.
But they did not look abandoned.
They looked finished.
I locked the door and placed the key in my handbag.
For the first time, I did not feel as though I was leaving Walt behind.
I felt as though I was carrying him with me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: What We Were Really Left With
My Husband Left Me With One Secret, and I Never Imagined My Three Children Would Give Me Three Completely Different Answers
Part 19 of 20
