I cared for Grandma in her final years while my siblings focused on their families. When she died, they got her jewelry; all I got was her old car. Crushed, I left it for a year. Today, I took it for a drive. A cassette started to play—it was Grandma’s voice. She said, “Open the glove compartment, my dear Sara!” I opened it—and was stunned. Inside was a stack of cash and a bundle of letters, all in Grandma’s familiar handwriting. I broke down in tears. I had no idea she’d saved that money for me, and at a time when I needed it most. But even more precious than the money were her words. In her letters, she told me how deeply she loved me, how much she valued our time together. She said that my kindness was my greatest gift, and that I took care of her without knowing anything about the money she had—which made her feel incredibly proud of me. Those letters gave me strength. They are my true inheritance.
