Sounds as if she had no children. Might have been reclusive after retirement. Maybe she didn't like extended-family members. There could have been a falling-out
Where she is, she won't be caring about material things, whereas those still encased in flesh suitcases care very much about money, just like the rest of us
Wonder if any of those seeking a chunk of her estate are able to prove they were at least in touch with her occasionally -- proof lying in any greetings/Christmas cards amongst her belongings
My elderly neighbour died when I was about 20 years old. It was a boarding house. She had the room next to mine. She collapsed from the heat. I called the doctor. He was reluctant to come and told me to bathe her in vinegar and water. Public telephone boxes in those days. I kept running down with change for the phone to beg the doctor to come. Finally he did. She died a few hours later
I'd never seen anyone visit her in the 18 months I'd lived there. Within a day or two, a gang of them descended -- middle aged, well dressed. Not much to say, certainly no thank yous. They were working their way through her few possessions. She used to pinch my food from the communal kitchen -- funny old dear. So there they were, fossicking through a few assorted tinned items (she'd been stashing them). They were working away like beavers, heads down. Well, she had nothing apart from a few photo albums and old clothes. They took most of it then swept out the way they had come -- nothing to say. Left what they didn't want for someone else to deal with
I'd listened to her for hours as she reminisced about her youth, her marriage, etc. She used to forget she'd told me and would tell the same story over and over again with me nodding as if I'd never heard it before. Sweet old thing. She was descended from a well-known Australian chocolate manufacturers, she said. Her surname fitted the story. Poor as a churchmouse. Quiet, timid, tiny.
Those old people from days gone by. When I first found her, she was lodged between the bed and an old fashioned wardrobe. She couldn't extricate herself. I managed to get her up and onto the bed. Said I'd run to phone the doctor. By the time I got back, she'd managed to change from her 'everyday' nightie into her 'good' one -- out of respect for the doctor who was too busy to come attend to her until she was on her last gasp. I'll always remember it -- her lying there on the bed in her 'good' nightie because she didn't want the doctor to see her in her usual one. Gotta look nice for the doctor. Pity no-one paid her the same respect
