After Estranged Mother’s Death, Siblings Find Dusty Old Box in Parents’ Closet – Story of the Day

For years, I carried a deep-seated shame about my parents. Between Dad’s disability and Mom’s peculiar habit of always covering herself, I felt trapped in their house. So, after my brother and I moved out, we severed ties. It wasn’t until they both had passed that we unearthed the astonishing truth about their past.

The people in our childhood neighborhood weren’t happy when my brother, Sean, and I didn’t attend our mother’s funeral. She passed away alone, and it seemed like everyone knew we hadn’t been in touch for a while. We hadn’t even been there for our dad’s funeral three years earlier.

The local community had taken care of everything, sparing us the concern of funeral expenses. Yet, our entire small town in Virginia seemed to condemn Sean and me because they had no idea why we weren’t there.

So, let me try to explain our side now.

Dad had lost both his legs and couldn’t work anymore. He received disability benefits, and Mom worked part-time to cover the rest. Money was always tight. Unlike other kids, Sean and I rarely got much for Christmas and often wore old clothes.

As the eldest, I started working at 14 so I could buy Sean some nice things. Our parents never understood our spending, oblivious to the bullying we faced at school over everything, including Dad’s disability and Mom’s dress sense.

For some reason, Mom always covered up, no matter how hot it was. I used to ask her why, but she’d dodge the question every time. Sean tried to find out how Dad lost his legs, but he’d never get a straight answer. We knew something painful was behind it, yet our parents never opened up.

Despite it all, we knew they did their best. But their lack of honesty felt like a wall between us. When I turned 18 and left for college thanks to scholarships, I almost completely cut off contact, only calling to check on Sean. And when he left, the calls stopped.

When Dad died, I had just started a new job across the country and couldn’t attend his funeral. Sean was swamped with midterms and also didn’t go. Mom was heartbroken. She tried reaching out, but we kept dodging her calls until she stopped trying.

Mom laid Dad to rest and gradually faded from the world. Sean and I never spoke to her again. She passed away relatively young, alone in her room. Her health was fine, but it seemed like she just gave up.

Our neighbor, Mrs. Coltrane, was the first to blame us for her death, saying we were the reason she died of loneliness. The entire community was convinced my brother and I were evil. I, too, would come to regret not being more present, but honestly, communication is everything. And hindsight is 20/20.

Six months after Mom’s passing, Sean and I found ourselves back in our old hometown in Virginia, despite my life in Seattle and Sean’s in Los Angeles.

“This is a pain. Are you sure we couldn’t do this remotely or something?” he complained, putting out his cigarette outside our childhood home.

I sighed deeply. “Believe me, if there was a way, I would’ve found it. But the real estate agent insisted we had to be here in person to sign some paperwork and clear out their things,” I explained.

“Ugh… fine. Let’s just get this over with. I bet we can just throw most of it away,” Sean grumbled.

So, we did exactly that, tossing most of our parents’ belongings onto the lawn, and planning to put them by the garbage bins later. However, Mrs. Coltrane caught us in the act and asked if she could keep a few items.

“Of course, we don’t want all that junk,” I told her dismissively before heading back inside.

Mrs. Coltrane, shaking her head in disapproval, took an antique teapot Mom had cherished and went back home. It didn’t take long for the entire neighborhood to catch wind of what we were doing, and soon, everyone was picking through the discarded items on our lawn.

At the time, Sean and I couldn’t care less about who took what.

The clearing out was nearly finished when I noticed a hole in Mom’s closet. Calling Sean over, we realized it would need fixing before we could sell the house. “There’s nothing inside, right?” I asked him.

“Hmm, let me check. Oh wait… yeah, there’s something here,” Sean said, delving into the closet. He emerged with an old, dusty box sealed with duct tape labeled “Lily,” our mom’s name.

“What could be in there?” I pondered aloud, more to myself than to Sean, as I opened the box.

Inside were several newspaper clippings, all yellowed with age, dating back to 1992, a couple of years before I was born. “It’s about a huge bus crash from the ‘90s, and apparently, it caught fire,” I relayed to Sean as he explored the box further.

“Look at this,” Sean announced, holding up a gold medal.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, hand over my mouth.

“What is it?” Sean asked, peering closer.

“‘Young local hero, Mrs. Young, saves eight people and her husband, the bus driver, from burning down in the aftermath of a bus crash. Initial investigations suggest that the brakes in the bus went out and Mr. Young could not control his vehicle,’” I read part of the article aloud, then looked up at Sean, both of us struck by the revelation.

“What else happened?” Sean prodded, his voice urging me to continue reading.

“It says here that Mom suffered severe burns in the crash, and Dad lost his legs. The Mayor awarded Mom that medal for her bravery. I can’t believe they never told us. Everything from our childhood suddenly makes sense,” I said, trailing off as tears welled up.

It was only then that I thought about how harshly we’d judged our parents all this time.

Sean was equally overwhelmed, and we sat in silence for a while, just outside the closet, lost in our thoughts. Then, he broke the silence.

“Wait a minute. If the bus company was at fault, why didn’t they compensate our parents? They were always worried about money, so I know they didn’t have savings,” he pondered aloud. Having just graduated from law school and about to start his internship at a prestigious law firm in Los Angeles, I knew how this matter would gnaw at him.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, wiping away my tears.

“We can’t undo the wrongs we’ve done or how we neglected Mom and Dad. But I’m going to find out the truth,” Sean resolved, determination in his voice. I couldn’t help but smile at him, proud and hopeful.

“And we’re not selling the house,” I declared, almost surprising myself. “We’re going to keep it. It’s their home, where they raised us despite everything. We’ll restore it.”

Sean agreed without hesitation, and we made our way to the local cemetery to visit our parents’ graves, seeking silent forgiveness. Following that, I left my job in Seattle and returned to Virginia to take on the house renovation.

I apologized to Mrs. Coltrane for our past behavior, explaining our ignorance of our parents’ struggles. She was shocked to learn we hadn’t known about the accident. The guilt was unbearable—I couldn’t believe I never thought to simply look up their history.

“Mrs. Coltrane, I can’t make things right with Mom and Dad. It’s too late for that, but we’re going to try,” I promised her earnestly.

Months later, Sean discovered the bus company had evaded compensating our parents due to a technicality. I didn’t fully grasp the legal intricacies, but Sean was determined to fight. Two years later, we won a new lawsuit against the company, resulting in a significant settlement.

But the money didn’t matter to us. We donated it to the local hospital to establish a burn unit, honoring our parents by assisting others like them. I also founded a charity in the area and dedicated myself to giving back. The childhood home, once renovated and modernized, became my permanent residence. Mrs. Coltrane, in a touching gesture, returned Mom’s antique teapot as a housewarming gift.

A few years on, Sean decided to move back too, buying the house next to mine. Together, we raised our families, ensuring our parents’ memories and sacrifices were never forgotten.

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If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one: My brother and I got placed into the foster system when my father couldn’t cope with the loss of my mother, but I later discovered why he never came back for me.

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