I am nearly 70 this year. At this age, I should be enjoying life with my children and grandchildren, sipping morning tea, tending to bonsai trees, leisurely reading the news and going to bed early. Instead, I am now living in a small rented room on the outskirts of the city, stretching my meager pension each month to pay rent and buy medicine.
But the hardest part is not the financial struggle. It is the loneliness and regret I feel every time I think of my hasty decision to give away all my property to my children.
I worked as a state employee for nearly 40 years. My wife passed away early, and I stayed single to raise my three sons. We were not wealthy, but by saving every penny and preserving the land my grandparents left behind, I ended up with a house facing a busy suburban street, a plot of farmland in the countryside and another small lot. To me, these were not just assets. They were the result of a lifetime of frugality and sacrifice.
When my sons grew up and started families of their own, I thought all my properties would eventually go to them, so I gradually transferred everything. I divided it evenly: the main-street house to the eldest for his business, the farmland to the middle son so he could live in the countryside and the remaining plot to the youngest.
At the time, I simply thought: “How much longer will I live to keep these things? Let them have a foundation to build their lives.”
I even jokingly told them: “Living off the three of you is enough to make me happy. I do not need to worry about anything anymore.”
At first, I lived with my eldest son. The house was spacious and beautiful, but he and his wife were busy with their business while their two children were occupied with their studies. I felt like an outsider. I had to cook my own meals.
After a few months, my daughter-in-law began giving me attitude. She never said it outright, but at my age I could read the contempt in her glances and the veiled remarks she made to my son, such as, “The house is too cramped,” “Your dad turns the TV up too loud and disturbs the kids’ studying,” or “Maybe your dad should go to the countryside for a change of air.”
I quietly packed my things and went to live with my second son in the countryside, only to find that the farmland had become overgrown while my son took on unstable jobs. We lived in a hastily built tin-roofed house on the plot. My son mostly stayed home playing games and paid no attention to me. Saddened, I packed my belongings, once again returned to the city and asked my youngest if I could stay with him for a while.
I thought my youngest loved me most. He was well-educated and had promised to care for me in my old age. He now lives with his wife in a luxury apartment and leads a comfortable life. However, his wife gently refused to let me stay, saying that their place was too small. They told me to rent a room nearby and they will visit me on weekends. And thus I had no choice but to find a place to rent and manage life on my own.
I understand that my children have their own lives and struggles, and I am no longer their top priority. My mistake was trusting them too much and not keeping at least a roof over my head for my final years.
I know many parents are like me, loving their children and thinking of them before anything else. But please think carefully before giving them an early inheritance. Keep some for yourself, not out of selfishness, but so your children understand that their parents remain an important part of their lives. Only then can you avoid spending your final years in bitterness and regret, as I do now.
*The opinion was translated into English with the assistance of AI. Readers’ views are personal and do not necessarily match VnExpress’ viewpoints.
