Sil Demands Us To Come An Pick Up Grannywho Passed Away 3 Months Ago Shocking Truth Is…

A Message from the Past

From childhood, I was raised and cherished by my grandparents. In a minor accident, my beloved grandmother passed away. During that time, out of the blue, I received a message from my long unheard-from sister-in-law.

The message read: “I need you to take care of your grandmother who passed away three months ago.”

There’s so much I wanted to say, but my cherished grandmother is not there anymore. I witnessed it with my own eyes. This call would serve as a catalyst for everything to come to light.

I am Linda Thompson, a 45-year-old single woman. The last time I had a significant male presence in my life was back in college. After parting with him, I dove headfirst into the working world post-graduation.

I labored in the marketing department of a major cosmetics company, where I worked overtime and weekends as the norm. Before I knew it, I had missed my chance to get married. That’s not the reason, but six years ago, I changed careers and took a desk job at a nursing home.

The Drift Within the Family

I used to commute for an hour and a half one way on crowded trains. If I made it back home on the last train, I considered myself lucky. Now, I work at a place less than a 10-minute bike ride away from home.

I get the usual days off as per the calendar, and overtime is almost non-existent. But that’s not why I changed jobs either. I’ve never moved out of my childhood home. I’m confident in my financial standing, and I’m pretty good at household chores if I do say so myself.

So why haven’t I moved out? Because I love my family, especially my dear grandmother. I was born and raised in California. The members of my family are my parents, grandparents, and my brother, who is five years my senior.

His name is Brian Thompson, now 50 years old. While I just said I love my family, my feelings toward my brother are complex. I used to love him as my brother; he was a gentle and caring older brother, always looking after his little sister.

But Brian changed after graduating from college. He got a job in car sales, moved out on his own early on, and married a woman from his workplace just two years later. From then on, we gradually grew apart.

He never shows up at our childhood home—not during Thanksgiving, not during spring break, not even during the Christmas holidays. I vaguely know that he lives somewhere in the South, but that’s about it. I don’t even know if he has children.

I can’t even remember when I last saw Brian’s face or when we last spoke on the phone. It feels like it’s been at least five years.

“Ever since I became a manager, I’ve been super busy. I’m leaving everything home-related to you.”

Those are the last words I remember from Brian. My current impression of him can be summarized as: what an unfeeling man. That’s why I made a career change and decided not to move away from my childhood home to protect the house.

The Tragedy of Grandma Betty

My parents are both retired. My grandfather, 93 years old, suffered a stroke a few years ago, and though he recovered, he requires constant care and can’t live independently. Currently, my parents are taking care of him.

And then there’s my grandmother, Betty Thompson, aged 92. My dearly beloved Grandma Betty. In our house, both of my parents were working, so it was my grandparents who took care of my siblings and me when we were little.

Especially Grandma Betty—she taught me everything I needed to survive. These days she can’t get out much, but she’s lively enough to walk around the house freely. That’s why I decided to change my job to working in a nursing home so that I can take care of her if anything happens.

On one particular day, I was getting ready to leave the house. “I’m off to work,” I said.

Grandma Betty called from behind me: “Wait, you forgot something, huh?”

“I didn’t forget anything,” I replied.

But she said: “Here, have some hard candies,” and handed me a few black licorice candies.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” That brought a smile to my face. Licorice has always been a favorite of both Grandma Betty’s and mine. I put them in my suit pocket and left the house with a smile.

Suddenly, tragedy struck. Or maybe it’s called a tragedy because it happened suddenly, but that doesn’t matter now. Grandma Betty had a severe accident.

According to my father, after she had hung her laundry on the balcony upstairs as usual, she missed a step on the stairs and fell. It was something we always feared. We always told her to leave the laundry to Mom and Dad, that the stairs were dangerous and not to go upstairs.

But Grandma Betty, like me, was stubborn. She was a believer in doing what she can do by herself. No one is to blame; it was just an unfortunate accident that could have happened at any time.

Everything happened quickly after that. Grandma Betty, who had suffered complex fractures through her femur and pelvis, never made it home from the hospital. Just four months later, she passed away due to old age.

The Brother Who Didn’t Come

Of course, I was sad, and I did cry. I cried and cried and broke down crying. But I am an adult now, and now I am the breadwinner of this house. I don’t have time to wallow in sorrow.

Funeral, cremation, interment—I have to take care of everything. Grandma Betty was originally from the Midwest, and now we don’t have any close relatives to contact. We decided at a family meeting to have a funeral only with close family members.

We have to invite my brother and his wife. I thought they would come without hesitation, but I was wrong. I couldn’t reach them by phone or WhatsApp. I also sent an email, but no reply.

I sent a text message as a last resort, and the reply came on the day of the cremation: “I’m very busy overseas for work. Sorry, but I can’t make it. I’ll send the money later,” it said.

I don’t care about the money. Upon seeing the message, I found myself speaking out loud unintentionally. “Could his job really be so important that he can’t even make time to say goodbye to our grandma who adored us so much?”

It’s hard to accept. Into Grandma’s casket, her makeup impeccably done looking like she was just peacefully sleeping, I placed flowers and a photo of Grandpa along with her favorite black candy.

Something changed in my perception of my brother while doing this. From that moment, I started to despise him.