My Son Will Waste His Inheritance
By: Susan Kelley
Tags: Parenting, Alcoholism, Love, Relationships, Death

My Son Will Waste His Inheritance

Photo by Rhodi Lopez on Unsplash

My mother died just under two years ago. She didn’t leave me anything in her will, but she left each of my children a small inheritance. Less than ten thousand dollars apiece.

It’s not an insignificant amount of money. It’s not the winning Powerball ticket, but it’s not nothing, either. But it will be nothing soon for my oldest son, my 26-year old.

See, he’s an alcoholic. Well, he’s a dry alcoholic. He hasn’t had a drink in over a year, which is fantastic. Really, truly wonderful. In the five years before that, he was a horrible rendition of himself, and I am deeply grateful that he’s been sober for a year. I had to do some serious finagling to get him into rehab, and then I had to do some real tap-dancing to convince him to stay there. And when he got out, it was the early height of the pandemic, so he had a pre-made excuse not to buy into any AA meetings. He was determined to get dry, but not get into recovery.

So, yeah, he’s what is commonly known as a dry drunk. He hasn’t sought any therapy, any fellowship, any self-improvement. Why does this matter? It matters because he sucks with money. He has always sucked with money. For his entire life, it’s like dollar bills have burned a hole in his pocket.

My other two children, his younger brother and sister, are considerably better with money in general. His 23-year-old sister just paid off one of her college loans, and his 20-year-old brother is working two jobs since he’s not on campus this semester thanks to Covid. The oldest, though, hasn’t gone more than one or two months in a row without an overdraft since opening the account nearly ten years ago.

Both of the younger siblings inherited the same amount of money, and both of them were willing to discuss investments, agreeing that their grandmother would have liked for them to make sure the money grows into something substantial. Sure, it could be used right now to hack away at some college debt, or to pay off the car, but it could, and likely should, be destined to plant a seed that will become a mightier tree. Never before have they had an opportunity like this.

When the kids were born, my mother opened a small mutual fund for them as babies that we could never afford to contribute to, so it grew only in tiny increments, floundering for years. The two younger kids are eager to test out the adage, “time in the market is better than timing the market.” And I agree wholeheartedly.

Their older brother, though, sees things differently. When I presented him with the news of the inheritance and told that I would open an investment account alongside his siblings, he balked. More than balked, he protested. When I declared that it would be folly to do anything other than take a slice off the top, and that his grandmother would like to see him use the funds for a down payment on a house, maybe an engagement ring one day, his first response was, “or maybe a car.” Bear in mind: he has no driver’s license. I reminded him that a car instantly loses value upon leaving the dealer’s lot. He was unmoved. He asked how much I thought he should take in cash to start. I said a couple hundred. He suggested five. Then a thousand.

I knew then that not only was the battle lost, but the entire war.

As I drew a harder line in the sand, hoping he would see reason, his mind was churning to dig in his heels and declare independence over his money, to argue sense where there is a void of wisdom.

A few years ago, when things did not go his way in one argument or another, as he was fully gripped by his alcoholism and mental illness held him firmly in its grasp, he declared, “You are dead. You are as useless as a dried up old sarcophagus.”

He has never apologized for those words. He has not apologized for the dozens of hurtful words or actions of his twenty-six years. As he was asserting control over my mother’s final gift to him, he similarly said, “Fine. If you decide to withhold this money, then just take it. I’ll never speak to you again. Ever.”

He said this with as much conviction as last time. I’m sure he thinks he means it. I’m certain he is serious. I’m also sure he thinks I believe him.

But I don’t.

What I will do instead is watch his money disappear. He will have good intentions. He usually does. But his good intentions end up with vapid results. He doesn’t buy birthday gifts, he doesn’t send cards. He spends time lusting over shoes that he likes, guitars that he has never been able to afford, designer dogs, high-end furnishings, video games, travel, and myriad other things that have always been just out of reach.

So whether it is a few tattoos that he has wanted to get, some stylish sunglasses that were just too much to resist, a new table to match the rug he and his girlfriend bought, or upgrading his wardrobe piece by piece, I will watch, helpless, angry, solemn, while he dismantles the best opportunity he’s had to achieve a financial foothold. At 26, he sees no need for college or home ownership, no reason to ensure even the tiniest nest egg to make up for his lack of insurance, no options for paying off the list of debts he has amassed.

And because he is my son, I will love him through these, in sorrow and relative silence. I will watch it all.