You hate to hear it

I’m fixing to stuff plastic eggs with candy and other goodies for a hunt at my pad. The kids and their friends’ families are coming for a pre-Easter potluck.

Filling those plastic eggs reminds me of a tragic story I heard on the radio last year. It’s a you-hate-to-hear-it tale.

A family matriarch died shortly before Easter. The offspring canceled the celebration on account of the grief.

They set to emptying the home for sale. Among the belongings they sent to the Salvation Army were the plastic Easter eggs, baskets and decorations meant for the skipped holiday.

Months later the oldest daughter had calmed enough to read her mom’s diary. The final entry was the morning of her death.

It detailed her plan for Easter. She knew this would be her final one, and wanted to make it special for the kids and grandkids. She had said to herself, ‘Why wait until I die to give them their inheritance? I want to see them enjoy it.’

She liquidated her assets, withdrew her savings from the bank and filled the eggs with $1,000 bills. I don’t remember how much they said it was, but I remember calculating how many houses it would buy. It was a lot.

The family rushed to the retrieve it, but the donation was long gone.

There are many morals to this story.

And a dye pun in there somewhere, but you’d hate to hear that, too.

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One Response to “You hate to hear it”

  1. The refrigerator story « Stories O' Mine Says:

    […] here it comes. Remember You hate to hear it? You have not yet begun to […]

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