Journalled on Wednesday, 13 September 2023 | Flamengo, Rio de Janeiro: 32 degrees, hot and sunny.
My Uncle Mick – Part 2. It will have been two years this November. That is my Uncle Mick. He had died.
He was an incredibly good man, very good for me. He had married three times. The first was to a Swindler, the second to an angel, and the third to a sociopath.
I lost contact with my uncle for about 10 years. This happened while I was going through my second separation and dealing with the demands of running my school, which consumed all my time. Unbeknownst to me, he had moved, sold his old house, and relocated near where I lived as a child in Wollaston.
To my surprise, my uncle moved to the next street along from where I grew up in Wollaston. His new house, a bungalow, is in front of the primary school I attended when I was five.
Wollaston is a middle to upper-class village district of Stourbridge. Stourbridge is the predominant town with many other connected villages or districts. My grandmother lived all her life in a council house on a council estate in Wordsley, whereas my brother and I lived and grew up in Wollaston.
England remains a very classist society. I grew up seeing the difference between the reality of where I lived and the reality of where my grandparents lived. When I visited my grandparents, it was evident that I was in a poorer neighbourhood than the one where I lived.
When my parents divorced, my mother had to move back to Wordsley because she did not have the means to stay in Wollaston. In a way, I see it as a form of divine justice since we were only living in Wollaston because of my father’s work and business. When my parents separated, my mother had to return to her home village.
In his retirement, my uncle volunteered with the Severn Valley Railway, an NGO that preserves a steam-engine railway line of approximately 20 miles between Kidderminster and Bridgnorth in the heart of the English countryside. This was the only way I could get back in touch with him. After sending a couple of emails, I received a phone number and resumed regular contact with him, calling him once every week or fortnight.
After resuming contact, I discovered that my uncle’s stepdaughter from his first marriage to the swindler, whom he had not seen for more than 40 years, had begun to contact him again. My intuition told me something was wrong, but I never said anything.
He would visit his stepdaughter, who lived in another city, by train twice or thrice a year. She would never go to see him in Wollaston, which I thought might be because of his sociopathic wife. Who knows?
During the last three years of his life, my uncle repeatedly asked me to send him my contact details, as he wanted to include me in his will. For two years, I had not done anything. I did not call him every month or maintain contact with him for any financial gain, but only because he was an important person and a reference in my life.
In the last six months of his life, I finally gave in and sent my contact details through his stepdaughter, Tracy, as he did not use the internet, email, WhatsApp, etc. He confirmed that he had received the details and had given them to his lawyer. I did not think much of it, and time continued to pass.
My uncle passed away in October. In February of the following year, I went to Teresópolis for Carnival, the first carnival after the pandemic. I went with Katia, a friend of mine, and we stayed on a farm approximately 20 kilometres outside the town of Teresópolis.
Teresópolis is a small mountain town approximately one hundred kilometres from Rio. Due to its mountainous location, the climate is perfect: clean, fresh air, cool temperatures at night, and warm, sunny days. It’s a sublime place to live or visit.
The owner of the farm became a friend of mine. He was selling a piece of land on his farm because he was getting old and did not want to administer so much land. I had a look at the land. It was a two-half-acre piece of land that went up the side of a small hill. The land was covered with over 1,000 tall eucalyptus trees, each 20 meters high, and beautiful.
The day was both sunny and breezy. The breeze passed through the trees, making them seem to talk. They moved, spoke, and whispered at the same time. I felt as if I were in heaven. I thought this could be my home, where I could live, rest, and eventually die.
The price of the land was very reasonable, not high. However, I needed this money. My Uncle Mick said that what he had left for me was not a significant amount, just a little money. But with the exchange rates between the pounds and the Real, it was very advantageous. The minimum amount from England would quickly help to pay for this land.
When I returned from Carnival, I contacted Tracy, my uncle’s stepdaughter. She told me that Alan, my uncle’s Stepson from his third marriage to the sociopath, was the reader and executor of the will and that he had not done anything yet.
Again, my intuition was ringing like an alarm bell; something was strange. Even more than six months after my uncle passed away, they had not read his will yet.
I also found it strange that she refused to give me Alan’s contact details and left everything unresolved. If it isn’t resolved soon, I will take care of it when I’m in England. This was a year and a half ago, and I still haven’t seen any resolution.
Now that I have a date to go to England today, I sent Tracy a message to ask about the situation. She told me that Allen was ill and in hospital, and that the will had not yet been read, two years after my uncle’s death. I found this very strange again.
I will ask whether this is normal when I go to England to collect my mother’s trust documents. Again, my intuition tells me that something is wrong. My uncle insisted on my contact details, emphasising the importance of my involvement. After two years, it seems nothing has been done.
I would like to know first if I was included. If not, that is okay. I just want to know!!!
I have taught classes for several wealthy families in Rio. When the patriarch or matriarch passed away, disputes over money and the division of the estate among the heirs often destroyed the family and its assets.
In the future, I plan to buy some land in Terasopolis, Rio. I want to build a tiny house there for myself, and if Yasmin and Jessica want to visit, I will have a place for them. This land captivates me more with each passing day. I cannot stop thinking about the view, the trees, the climate, and the lifestyle I could have there. As I said, this could be the ideal place for the rest of my life.
Money and family: a highly complex and sometimes volatile mix at times.
The day consisted of classes, working on the sites, and writing blog posts. Everything is going well.
In bed by 9.30 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
