But life turned out to be brutal.
My husband, Andrzej, was my rock for over thirty years. We've been through everything together – joys, difficult times, raising our children. I thought that when he was gone, I would be able to mourn his loss in silence for a moment, that my children – our children – would be my support.
But life turned out to be brutal. I hadn’t even taken off my mourning dress when they started arguing about the inheritance.
Andrzej didn’t leave a will. For years, he believed that everything would work out, that we were a family, that if anything happened, our children would be able to communicate. He was wrong.
A week after the funeral, I was sitting in the kitchen, still in pain. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, as if there was no air in it. Suddenly I heard raised voices in the living room.
„I don't think Mom should live here alone,– my son, Marek, said. „The house is too big, and we could sell it and split the money.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
„Mom, you only have your pension,– added his daughter, Natalia. “If we sell the house, you'll have a way to live and you won't be dependent on us.”
Depending on them? I've taken care of them, cooked for them, looked after them all my life. And now, when I'd just buried my husband, they were planning to sell the house we'd spent our whole lives in?
“The house belongs to Mom,” said their aunt, who was also in the room. “This is her place, her memories. You can't throw her out.”
But my children wouldn't listen. It wasn't about me. It was about the money.
Every day, the talks about the inheritance became more brutal. Marek wanted to sell the house and divide everything equally. Natalia thought that since she was with me more often, she should get more.
And me? I didn't even have time to grieve. I couldn't cry for my husband, I couldn't think about the void he left behind – because I had to fight for something that should be sacred to them.
One day I couldn't take it anymore.
„Do you even understand what you're doing?– I shouted, looking at their cold faces. „Your father just passed away! Instead of mourning him, you're arguing about money, as if he owed you more than the life he gave you!”
There was silence. For a moment I hoped they would come to their senses. But Marek just shrugged.
„Mom, it's not that we're not sad. But we have to think about the future.”
Future? What about my future?
Today I'm sitting alone in an empty house. I'm fighting not to lose it, but I know that my children don't look at me as a mother, but as an obstacle to accessing the inheritance.
And I think about Andrzej. If he had known that after his death his children would turn into strangers, would he have acted differently? Would he have made a will, protecting me from this nightmare?
I don't know. I only know one thing – I never thought that at the most difficult moment of my life I would have to fight not for survival, but for my own dignity.