Uncle Petes lawyer heard my sons name at eleven at night and said, Carol, do not sign anything Brandi puts in front of you, and do not let her take those visits hostage. Your boy saw this coming. Bring me the letter in the morning.
My son wrote it two weeks before he died. He knew his health was failing and he knew Brandi, and he had thought it all the way through, the way I did not know he could.
In the letter he told me that his share of our house had already been settled in the divorce, years before, and that Brandi had received her part then. There was nothing of his left for her to claim for the children, because he had made sure the children were provided for honestly, in a separate account with a neutral trustee, not with Brandi holding the strings. He had the paperwork drawn up quietly and left the trail for Uncle Petes lawyer to follow.
She told me she would get my house for her kids one way or another. My boy had already made sure his kids were taken care of, without my house and without his ex-wife as the gatekeeper.
The lawyer used my sons letter and the trust he had set up. Brandis claim on my home had no legs, because there was nothing of my sons in the house to give. And because my son had documented his wishes for his children, the court recognized grandparent visitation, so Brandi could not use the babies as a threat anymore. The visits are mine by right now, not by her permission.
Carol, the lawyer said, your son protected all of you from the grave. Read the last line again.
The last line said, Mom, keep the swing up. So I put the tire swing back on the maple the very next morning, fifty years of rope and secrets, and the babies ride it every time their mama is required to let them come. Which, these days, is regular, and in writing.