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June 18, 2010 I thought I was a good mother. I’ve been one for more than half my life, starting at the young age of 20. Granted as a young mother, there were many things I could have done differently, but I did the best I could with what I knew. I was also smart enough to try to learn new things about parenting and consulted many, many books during those years. I ran back and forth to the library regularly taking out more books on parenting than I could even carry. Being a Jewish mom, I made many sacrifices for my kids as they were growing up. I shielded them from most of the family problems (dad’s unemployment, mom’s agoraphobia, etc). I sent my kids to camp when I could barely afford to buy lunches for my work week. I was particularly vigilant about my sons’ happiness. As a depressed kid myself, I was always keenly aware of my kids’ feelings and the “look” on their faces which I studied regularly as if I were watching a clock getting ready to have its alarm goes off. My youngest son was not my favorite, but let’s just say that as a baby, he got an abundance of catering to. I made him special meals to cater to his food likes and dislikes. I kept the peace between him and his father as they were complete personality opposites. Rich* was very stubborn and when he wasn’t winning at one of his favorite board games, he would eventually just pick up the board and throw all the pieces all over the floor so the game could not be completed. That was his way of losing. And, Rich always wanted the last word. Through his teenage years, I was there for him in every way I could. No matter when he wanted to talk to me I was available and we had some deep conversations. Whenever, he needed someone to run to his rescue, I was there. I would run his lunches to school whenever he left them on the counter rushing out to catch the school bus. By the way, he was always so slow getting anywhere—particularly to school early in the morning. He lived away at college even though we were in the same town. I wanted him to have the experiences that I did not get myself. After undergraduate school, he wanted to go away to law school. I was so happy for him when he got admitted to law school because as a smart young man, he hardly applied himself to studying and getting good grades. However, he was a great test taker and had no problems passing the LSAT or the Bar Exam after law school. My husband and I used to joke that when we were picking out names for his birth certificate, we used to write “Esquire” after his name just to see how the names would sound should he become a lawyer! Rich dated a few different girls seriously throughout college and law school—some of them for rather long periods of time. I liked each one of them and when he broke up with them, I listened intently on the phone night after night, comforting and supporting him. He would call me at midnight to begin conversations when I needed to get up at 5:30 a.m. the next morning to go to work. I never told him I didn’t have time to talk even though I was falling asleep many nights holding the receiver. To backtrack a bit, let me say that Rich was really a good kid and teenager. No drinking or drug problems. Only problem was getting him to do anything around the house. I was a stickler for neatness and made my sons clean their bedrooms once a week. This included vacuuming and putting stuff away (off the floor, etc.) When he met his wife, Rich was nearing the end of law school. It wasn’t long before they were moving in together. I liked his girlfriend a lot so I had no problem and was just delighted that he was happy. I did notice, however, that he was becoming increasingly sloppy. There were so many things on the floor of the bedroom that on the rare occasions that I visited their apartment, I could not believe my eyes. I suspected that there was no one encouraging either of them to put their clothes away in proper places such as drawers and closets. Early on, I offered to buy them more dressers in my vain attempt to get them to clean up their surroundings. When his wife got pregnant, I was thrilled beyond belief at the prospect of becoming a grandma—even if they did live over 4 hours away from us. However, I was concerned that they try to get their home straightened out before the baby came. My husband and I even sat down to have a serious conversation about their lack of organization and cleanliness. It appeared that things were getting much worse and my daughter-in-law was taking to hoarding. She would constantly go to the store or order things online and then they were lie on the floor or in bags. After conversations with them, it should have become obvious to me that the only person interested in being neat and clean was me. It was just not important to them at all (particularly my DIL). It was just too much trouble to change and they felt no need to do so. But, as I would come to see from frequent visits to see my grandkid, the home was dirtier and more unorganized than ever. I would try to clean up a bit when I visited and do a little laundry, but I have bad discs in my back, so I wanted to save myself to be able to lift the grandkid. In May, the second grandchild came and I was particularly excited because it was a girl. I couldn’t wait to see her and begin my quest for baby girl clothing. To my dismay, I was told that the family would be moving 3000 miles away. I tried to keep my spirits up—telling myself that if and when I retire, I will have plenty of time for trips across the U.S. when I really worried that finances may negate that. My first trip to their new home in California came in February. They moved into a fancy, expensive building in a beautiful area. Now my DIL would be home full time to care for the children and I couldn’t be happier for them. When I saw their new home, I was shocked. Things were piled high on the kitchen counters, clothes were everywhere-floors mostly, then sofa, beds, dining table etc. I tried to help with laundry and most importantly, to keep my mouth shut. I honestly did a good job keeping my mouth shut, except for two times that I offered to buy my son new furniture to store clothing and pay for someone to come into their home to help them get organized. I know, I should have let my feelings about their home go, but I felt so bad for my grandkid that was now going to friend’s homes and could compare his place to theirs. Plus, I wanted my grandson to be able to feel as though he could invite his friends over without being ashamed of his home. Shortly after we came back from our visit, I got a terrible phone call from my son. He said that the baby girl had Coxsacki disease and was very ill in the hospital, not moving with her eyes rolled up in her head. I began to cry hysterically after I look up the disease on line and discovered that it came from poor hygiene. When we were there for the February visit, the baby had Thrush and my DIL was treating it homeopathically instead of getting the prescribed medication from the pediatrician to treat it. I literally felt that I was going to have a break down. I didn’t know if we should jump on a plane and fly out there or wait until other doctors confirmed the diagnosis. We decided to wait. The next phone call later in the day stated that the nurse who saw my sweet granddaughter thought immediately that it was Kawaski Disease, not Coxsacki that the pediatrician had diagnosed earlier in the week. I was still reeling, just thinking that this serious disease could be from lack of proper care period. I let my mind go to places that no one should when thinking about their loved ones. I told him at the end of our conversation that they needed “to clean up their act.” He promptly hung up on me. Looking back I see that my timing was way off. When my son called, he was very upset himself and I should have been empathetic and supportive instead of bringing up old stuff. I just could not help myself. Then, after he hung up on me, I was furious. I ran to the computer and told them not such nice things in an email. Again, it was wrong of me, but I just couldn’t help myself. My husband and I had made plans in February to come out again to see the grandkids Memorial Day weekend. We were planning on staying a week and had booked a hotel and everything. Well, those plans never came to fruition. After I sent the email to my son, he sent me an email back a few days later, telling me that we were no longer welcome in his home and to cancel our Memorial weekend trip. He wouldn’t answer my calls the rest of the week about my granddaughter’s health. Kawaski is a very serious disease that can affect blood vessels and cause serious aftereffects even when a person recovers. One day, I worried so that I called the hospital. Nurses said that they could not tell me about the baby’s health (God bless HIPPA) and they connected me to her room MY DIL answered and when I asked how she was, before I even got out any questions about the baby, she told me that she couldn’t talk to me and she would have my son call me. I was stunned by her response to me. I never heard from my son. I had my husband call my son two and three times a day to check on the baby’s health. He would email my husband with one word answers, but no contact with me. It’s been almost four months since I spoke with my son. I cry regularly and am very depressed. I’ve had to increase my meds for depression as well as other medications I take for a bad back and hips. My son has stopped sending emails to my husband too. I sent an apology note early on, including gold earrings and chocolate covered strawberries to my DIL, begging for her forgiveness and telling her that it will never happen again. I’ve been reading a book by Dr. Joshua Coleman called “When Parents Hurt.” It has been a help, but the pain I feel is beyond description. I have called and left many teary messages asking what I can do to change the situation and make it right. I’ve been told by other DILs, that forgiveness will not be on my timeline, but theirs. All I know is that I realize the mistakes I’ve made and I need to have my children and grandkids in my life. Life without them would be something I do not ever want to get used to. I am in therapy now to learn how to go on day by day with the pain I feel and the lack of control to do anything about it. I just pray each night that I will be forgiven soon. I thought about removing all pictures of my kids and grandkids that are all over my home, but I realize that that would be foolish. I may not visibly see them, but they will always and forever be in my heart, albeit broken. One day soon, I hope I will be forgiven and we can start a relationship with a different beginning and a very different ending.
*Not a real name.
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