I Was Taken To The Hospital And Couldn’t Respond. The Doctors Called My Son, But He Said, “I’m Busy, I’m Taking My Wife To Dinner—She Needs Me Tonight.” Even After Being Told My Condition Was Serious. One Week Later, I Walked Out Of The Hospital And Made A Call To The Accounts Office. Two Hours Later, He Showed Up At My HOUSE IN A RUSH.

“Mom, you’re being unfair. I care about you.”

“Do you? Because when the hospital called and told you I might die, your response was, ‘She doesn’t have much time anyway.’”

Michael’s face went white.

“How do you—”

“The nurse told me that. Along with the rest of your charming response about being too busy for your dying mother.”

“I was in shock. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

I laughed and the sound was sharp enough to cut glass.

“Michael, darling, you’ve spent 34 years showing me exactly who you are. Last week, I finally started believing you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the life I had built from nothing. “It means I’m done.

Done being your bank. Done being your safety net. Done being taken for granted by a son who thinks so little of me that he won’t interrupt dinner for my deathbed.”

“Mom, you’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?

Tell me, Michael. What’s the first thing you thought when the hospital called? Be honest.”

He was quiet for a long moment, then quietly.

“I thought about how inconvenient the timing was.”

“And the second thing.”

Another pause. “I wondered if… if you had updated your will recently.”

The admission hung between us like a poison cloud. Finally, the truth.

“There it is,” I said softly. “Your dying mother was an inconvenience, and your inheritance was a concern.”

“Not once did you think about rushing to my side. Not once did you think about holding my hand or telling me you loved me.”

“You thought about money and timing.”

“Mom, I do love you.”

“No, Michael, you love what I can do for you.

You love my bank account, my co-signatures, my willingness to solve your problems with my checkbook, but you don’t love me.”

Continue reading…