Should You Remove a Grandchild from Your Will After a Falling Out?
Family relationships can be complicated, especially across generations. As we grow older, we often reflect not just on what we want to pass on, but to whom—and why. Wills and estate plans become more than legal documents; they become reflections of the people and relationships that have mattered most to us. But what happens when one of those relationships is suddenly strained? What if someone who once held a dear place in your heart has deeply hurt you?
That was the question one thoughtful, heartbroken grandmother recently sent my way:
“I am very upset with my 25-year-old granddaughter and am considering taking her out of my will. For years we were very close and spent many vacations and special outings together. My husband and I helped her with summer camps and attended all of her sporting events. A few weeks ago, she asked me if I would buy her a car now that she’s graduated from college. She explained that she had a lot of school debt and that since I was ‘loaded,’ it should not be a problem for me. I’m widowed now and 79 years old, and I am by no means ‘loaded.’ I worry about what happens when I can’t live on my own. I have friends who’ve gone to nursing homes, so I know how expensive that is. I told her ‘no,’ and she became very upset and said some hurtful things. I thought it would blow over, but she’s not spoken to me since, and when I try to call her, she ignores my calls. I have other grandchildren who don’t treat me this way, so should I remove her to try and teach her a lesson?”
My Response
She was obviously in pain and it was easy to see why she felt the way she did. It’s not easy to be hurt by someone you love, especially when you’ve poured time, care, and financial support into the relationship. In this case, the granddaughter’s request wasn’t just about a car. It touched on something deeper: assumptions about wealth, entitlement, and perhaps a lack of awareness about the vulnerability that often accompanies aging.
It’s easy in moments like this to reach for the most immediate form of accountability—changing the will, closing the door, ending the relationship on paper, if not in life.
But I offered her a different idea.
I told her to write her granddaughter a letter. In it, she could explain how deeply hurt she was by her granddaughter’s words. That she felt dismissed, misunderstood, even used. But also, that she still loved her and missed their closeness.
And then—I told her not to send it.
Instead, I asked her to seal the letter in an envelope, write “Open in six months” on the front, and tuck it away in a drawer.
Why? Because decisions about inheritance carry emotional weight and long-term consequences. Estate documents are meant to outlast the emotional storms of the moment. They should reflect your values and intentions, not just your pain.
That doesn’t mean you should ignore patterns of entitlement or disrespect. But not every lapse in judgment from a young adult means the relationship is beyond repair. Sometimes a little time and distance can bring clarity—or even reconciliation.
It’s also worth remembering that your will is a private document until it isn’t. Quietly updating or adjusting your estate plan, if needed, is an option. But so is waiting, watching, and seeing whether the rift begins to mend.
So, if you’re in a similar situation—feeling conflicted about whether to disinherit someone you love—pause. Ask yourself:
Is this an isolated incident or part of a larger pattern?
Have I given them a chance to understand how they’ve hurt me?
What would I hope they learn from this—and is cutting them out the best way to teach that?
How will I feel if this relationship heals and I’ve already shut the door?
There are no perfect answers. But I do believe this: when you choose how to shape your legacy, let it be from a place of clarity—not just anger. Let it tell the truth not only about your resources, but about your resilience, your values, and your hopes for your family.
Sometimes that truth calls for boundaries. Other times, it calls for grace—and a letter in a drawer, waiting for its moment.