Mama had spent the final fourteen months of her life preparing for exactly what would happen when I walked through those bank doors.

PART 2: WHAT MAMA HAD PREPARED

First County Bank had been part of our family’s life for decades. Mama had banked there for forty years, and I had used the same branch for thirty, so when I walked through the doors shortly after five carrying an old flour tin filled with $18,940, I expected nothing more than an uncomfortable conversation about her accounts.

A teller named Dana greeted me, and I explained that my mother had recently died and that I had discovered documents connected to her finances. The moment Dana entered Beverly Parrish’s name into the computer, however, her expression changed, and she quietly excused herself before returning with branch manager Gerald Watts.

Gerald looked at me, then at the flour tin tucked beneath my arm.

“Mrs. Parrish, please come into my office.”

Once the door closed behind us, Gerald sat across from me and folded his hands on the desk.

“Your mother came to see me.”

“When?”

“About fourteen months ago.”

He opened a drawer and placed a folder in front of me. Mama had apparently known that her health was declining, and instead of leaving behind only an apology, she had spent more than a year preparing for the possibility that I would eventually discover the flour tin and follow her instructions to the bank.