My mother-in-law opened her eyes all the way for the first time in three months, said my name, Cheryl, squeezed my hand once, and then lifted her other hand and pointed, not at Gary, but at the door. Standing there was his sister Paula, and beside her a woman with a lanyard that said Adult Protective Services.
Nineteen years as a notary public in Warren County, and I know every notary in it. When I found the new will in Garys briefcase, signed and witnessed and dated two days after his mothers stroke, everything to Gary and nothing to Paula and nothing to the church his mother gave sixty years to, I looked at the notary stamp first. It belonged to a woman who died in 2021.
A will notarized by a dead woman is not a will. It is a forgery, and a brazen one.
Gary thought his mother was past telling anyone anything. She could not speak, could not walk, could not hold a pen, which was exactly why he was so sure. But she could squeeze my hand. Once for yes. Twice for no. And for weeks, visit by visit, pot roast by pot roast, she had been answering me.
Did Gary make you sign a paper. One squeeze. Do you want Paula. One squeeze. Do you want me to call someone who can help. One long squeeze, and a tear down the side of her face.
He told the nurses I was an angel who visited every week. I was visiting to take a statement, one squeeze at a time, from a woman everyone else had given up on.
I called Adult Protective Services and brought them the forged will, the dead notarys stamp, and the hand signals a neurologist later confirmed she was truly giving. Paula, who Gary had barred from the nursing home since August, walked back in with the state beside her.
The forged will was thrown out. His mothers real wishes stood, Paula and the church included. Forging a will and exploiting a stroke patient are crimes, and Gary is answering for both.
I filed, with a protective order for the hallway where he put his hand flat on the wall beside my face. His mother lived four more months. Paula and I were with her at the end. Gary was not allowed to be. She squeezed my hand one last time. Once. For yes.