Last weekend, my sister and one brother verbally beat the crap out of our mother. Despite my best efforts to stop them, the brutal scene lasted more than an hour, without regard for our mother's health. My efforts were as futile as trying to halt a tsumani with my fingers.
My sister had been Mom's financial officer. In the six days since that brutal tirade, my sister had refused to take my mother's calls, so she turned to us. Ted, a former banker, was her choice for a new CFO. Yesterday, we picked her up, went to lunch and to the bank, where she opened new accounts, Ted as joint, so he can handle her financial affairs.
After I get in my twice-weekly workout at Bally Fitness, we head to Chase Bank so he can help sort out the initial transfers of funds. He's got her mortgage to pay and other bills will begin trickling in soon. Mom has never handled her finances. She is part of the generation whose husbands always took care of the bills, balanced the checkbooks, and required total silence on the Saturdays that followed paydays.
I thank God I am part of the set that grew up with a checkbook and bill-paying duties as a teen. Although Ted and I share our finances, I do have my own checking account and I handle our stock portfolio with Scottrade. Should I become a widow for a second time (Lord may that never happen), I would be able to manage my affairs.
Gayl
Friday, July 31, 2009
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