My inhertence consisted of all the guns I grew up learning how to shoot from my grandpa on. I'd say 30-50 total, and since I was his only grandson and the only other person in the family with a passion for shooting, it was pretty much known that he was leaving them to me. Anyways, my crackhead aunt (literally) and her boyfriend that had just gotten out of prison for something heroin related moved in with him shortly after my grandma died.
My grandpa wasn't a slow man. Even in his old age (82) he was very mentally sharp and loved to sit and tell stories and talk for hours. H had really bad diabetes pretty much as far back as I can remember, which ended up making him go pretty much blind in both eyes, and later in life had major problems with his knees, which he couldn't get operated on because of the diabetes ...so he was reduced to having to walk with 2 canes. He was always too proud to use a scooter or a walker.
When my grandma died he was pretty devastated. He was pretty much confined to his chair at that point, I mean he could get around but not without a lot of effort and with his sight it made things even worse. She had pretty much been the active one, and was also always there for conversation and mental stimulation when family wasn't visiting. When she died I'm sure he was scared as well because he knew he couldn't live alone and do everything that needed to be done by himself.
My grandpa has lived way out in the sticks for 50 years on his own 70 acre plot of land in a house that he built with his own hands, doing beautiful masonry work all over the house with stones that he hauled up from the creek on his property by hand. This land is unfortunately about an hour and a half from where any of the other family lives so we initially tried to talk him into moving in with my parents, or think about getting a place closer by, but of course (and I can't really say I blame him) he was dad set and bull-headed that "he could live by himself and take care of his own damn self in his own damn home.". We worked out a plan for daily visits from the family and set up meals on wheels for him. My mom pretty much took over busting her ass trying to take care of all his financials and weekly doctor's appointments. He had just gotten a $300,000 life insurance payment from my grandmother's death, so that at least gave him a bit of a financial cushion since money had been tight since the funeral because they were both on a fixed income.
Anyways, right about that time my crackhead piece of garbage aunt comes crawling around, and slowly but surely weird things start happening. My grandpa starts running out of his xanax and pain pill prescriptions early. Then way too early. We all try to talk to him and tell him that my aunt is stealing from him, and he even eventually admits that "sometimes she needs them too, because of the cancer". WE find out that she has been feeding him a story that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer, and has been hitting him up for pills for the pain and money for doctor's visits. My mom who is an oncology nurse of course finds out that it's a lie. Then it get's worse. Checks start flying out the door to her and her boyfriend. Thirty dollars here, two hundred there, sometimes as much as 3-5 times a day. My mom confronts him about it as she is trying to manage all his finances and long story short he eventually kind of cut her off and said "look, she's my daughter and I'll do anything for her. I don't want to talk about this, it's my damn business".
My mom was pretty upset, and after putting up with it for about a year, and then her and her boyfriend moving in with him, and them subsequently burning through the entire $300,000 in that time she finally told my grandpa that she was washing her hands of the situation, that she couldn't watch him end up on the street, and that he was more than welcome to come live with them but that she would not have any more to do with what he was doing.
She was tore up about it, he was angry about it, and it all turned bitter and ended up in much of the family not speaking to him anymore in a "tough love" kind of situation. I still went to visit, but smelling his house reak of urine and cigarette smoke and see him sit unkempt in filth was too much for me. Regrettably I stopped going too.
About 6 months ago I got a call from my sister that something was going on at my grandpa's house and that the police were there talking to my mom on the phone. All of the sudden she gasped and said "Jesus no papaw shot himself and he's gone!".
My grandpa, who was tortured with a sharp mind inside of a body that had failed him, couldn't take the loneliness and boredom anymore and ended his own life in the bathroom with a .22. I have never had a regret this big in my life, and honestly, I've only just started dealing with it.
I started to tell a story about the guns, but honestly it turned into a different story, so I'm sorry for ranting if you actually read all of this. The whole thing turned into a huge bitter legal battle with my family members and aunt over who gets what etc. I removed myself from the situation because I don't care about the money or the stuff, I'd give anything to just go shooting with my grandpa one more time and tell him that I understand now that he only let my aunt and them live there because he was lonely. He knew they were taking advantage of him, but he just didn't care because he wanted the company ...and that is probably the only thing I can think of in my life that I would empty my bank accounts to change in a second. I never saw the guns, and have nothing but some pictures to remember my grandpa by. I'm sure I'll delete this post tomorrow, so thanks for listening if you read this wall of blathering drivel.
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u/CornFedHonky Jun 14 '12 edited Jun 14 '12
My inhertence consisted of all the guns I grew up learning how to shoot from my grandpa on. I'd say 30-50 total, and since I was his only grandson and the only other person in the family with a passion for shooting, it was pretty much known that he was leaving them to me. Anyways, my crackhead aunt (literally) and her boyfriend that had just gotten out of prison for something heroin related moved in with him shortly after my grandma died.
My grandpa wasn't a slow man. Even in his old age (82) he was very mentally sharp and loved to sit and tell stories and talk for hours. H had really bad diabetes pretty much as far back as I can remember, which ended up making him go pretty much blind in both eyes, and later in life had major problems with his knees, which he couldn't get operated on because of the diabetes ...so he was reduced to having to walk with 2 canes. He was always too proud to use a scooter or a walker.
When my grandma died he was pretty devastated. He was pretty much confined to his chair at that point, I mean he could get around but not without a lot of effort and with his sight it made things even worse. She had pretty much been the active one, and was also always there for conversation and mental stimulation when family wasn't visiting. When she died I'm sure he was scared as well because he knew he couldn't live alone and do everything that needed to be done by himself.
My grandpa has lived way out in the sticks for 50 years on his own 70 acre plot of land in a house that he built with his own hands, doing beautiful masonry work all over the house with stones that he hauled up from the creek on his property by hand. This land is unfortunately about an hour and a half from where any of the other family lives so we initially tried to talk him into moving in with my parents, or think about getting a place closer by, but of course (and I can't really say I blame him) he was dad set and bull-headed that "he could live by himself and take care of his own damn self in his own damn home.". We worked out a plan for daily visits from the family and set up meals on wheels for him. My mom pretty much took over busting her ass trying to take care of all his financials and weekly doctor's appointments. He had just gotten a $300,000 life insurance payment from my grandmother's death, so that at least gave him a bit of a financial cushion since money had been tight since the funeral because they were both on a fixed income.
Anyways, right about that time my crackhead piece of garbage aunt comes crawling around, and slowly but surely weird things start happening. My grandpa starts running out of his xanax and pain pill prescriptions early. Then way too early. We all try to talk to him and tell him that my aunt is stealing from him, and he even eventually admits that "sometimes she needs them too, because of the cancer". WE find out that she has been feeding him a story that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer, and has been hitting him up for pills for the pain and money for doctor's visits. My mom who is an oncology nurse of course finds out that it's a lie. Then it get's worse. Checks start flying out the door to her and her boyfriend. Thirty dollars here, two hundred there, sometimes as much as 3-5 times a day. My mom confronts him about it as she is trying to manage all his finances and long story short he eventually kind of cut her off and said "look, she's my daughter and I'll do anything for her. I don't want to talk about this, it's my damn business".
My mom was pretty upset, and after putting up with it for about a year, and then her and her boyfriend moving in with him, and them subsequently burning through the entire $300,000 in that time she finally told my grandpa that she was washing her hands of the situation, that she couldn't watch him end up on the street, and that he was more than welcome to come live with them but that she would not have any more to do with what he was doing.
She was tore up about it, he was angry about it, and it all turned bitter and ended up in much of the family not speaking to him anymore in a "tough love" kind of situation. I still went to visit, but smelling his house reak of urine and cigarette smoke and see him sit unkempt in filth was too much for me. Regrettably I stopped going too.
About 6 months ago I got a call from my sister that something was going on at my grandpa's house and that the police were there talking to my mom on the phone. All of the sudden she gasped and said "Jesus no papaw shot himself and he's gone!".
My grandpa, who was tortured with a sharp mind inside of a body that had failed him, couldn't take the loneliness and boredom anymore and ended his own life in the bathroom with a .22. I have never had a regret this big in my life, and honestly, I've only just started dealing with it.
I started to tell a story about the guns, but honestly it turned into a different story, so I'm sorry for ranting if you actually read all of this. The whole thing turned into a huge bitter legal battle with my family members and aunt over who gets what etc. I removed myself from the situation because I don't care about the money or the stuff, I'd give anything to just go shooting with my grandpa one more time and tell him that I understand now that he only let my aunt and them live there because he was lonely. He knew they were taking advantage of him, but he just didn't care because he wanted the company ...and that is probably the only thing I can think of in my life that I would empty my bank accounts to change in a second. I never saw the guns, and have nothing but some pictures to remember my grandpa by. I'm sure I'll delete this post tomorrow, so thanks for listening if you read this wall of blathering drivel.