Life

Life had begun to feel better in theory than practice, and Aunt Mildred - who had long accepted that all things must end at some point - decided to put some gusto into the final chapters and bestow her legacy in a manner they'd find both helpful and relevant. She lived her remaining life - all of it, even the irritating bits - to the fullest, and left things tidy when at last she left them. To the ones who cared only about money, she left money (with the predictable caution that it could not buy happiness and the promise that her financial planner had been retained to help them dig out of the mess they would predictably create). To the ones who valued things, she left both of her cars and the boat plus the toys stored at the lake cabin (with the predictable caution to stay safe [knowing they wouldn't pay her any heed] and the names of three surgeons who had rebuilt her successfully at different points in her chuffing along). To the ones who valued real estate, she left the lake cabin and the house - both paid off and gold mines in today's market (with the predictable caution that it's love that makes a place a worthy dwelling and you couldn't really put a price on that, understanding that they would put a price on it eagerly and roll their eyes at her sentimentality at the closings). And, lastly, to Billie, Mildred left a tiny coffee shop in a small town with a modest two bedroom apartment above it; it was here that Billie could be as generous as she liked, turning the place into a safe haven for others - offering the kind of protection (from loneliness and other hungers) life could so brutally deny. It was Billie who was quietly awarded the trust fund from the global investments, because she had grown first honest, then reflective, then internally wise and, ultimately, had become the person she'd needed when she was little. It was Billie who would prove to be a game-changer in the lives around her and Mildred thought that was simply splendid.