They hadn’t been part of his life for years. No phone calls, no visits. I’d watched him try — birthdays, holidays, attempts to reconnect — but they always turned away. Now, after the funeral, they stood at my door asking when I planned to hand over the keys.
I was speechless. They had walked away from him long ago. This place wasn’t just his — it was ours. But grief makes it hard to say what needs to be said. I simply told them I needed time.
So the next day, I invited them back. They came expecting a fight. Instead, I offered tea and asked them to sit. When the room grew still, I looked at his mother and said, “You can have the house — but only if you accept one condition.”
They went silent.
“You can have it,” I repeated, “if you promise to keep the same love and gentleness he poured into this place. That’s all I ask. This home is his heart. If you can honor that… it’s yours.”Continue reading…