My Daughter Banned Me from Seeing My Grandchild Because Her Husband Doesn’t Want ‘Single Mom Influence’ in Their Home

The moment Kristen is excluded from her daughter’s life, she needs to face the things she gave up that nobody ever knew about. As one situation ends, a different one begins for her, with experiences of grace, friendship and original love.

Some say that a village is needed to raise a child.

I was every person in that town.

I am Kristen. I’m an elderly person now, even if on some days I remember how I felt in my younger years. Most greatly in my knees. Especially, when I wake up from dreams where my daughter is still a child and realize now she is someone’s mom.

She is named Claire.

I have been single parent to her ever since she became a preschooler. When he left, it was a rainy Tuesday and he didn’t even turn off the lights as he went out. Nothing was written on the wall. No money. Just smelling the asphalt after it rains and hearing the silence.

Neither parent had to pay child support. Henry didn’t get any birthday cards. There are no reasons for “I missed your kindergarten graduation” calls.

I held down two jobs at once. Sometimes three. Went without meals to ensure there was enough food for her. So, I stitched her prom dress by hand with the thread I had got from using coupons at the store, because she wanted to fit the theme and I wanted her to feel like she belonged there.

I never missed her school plays, when she was in the back reading silently the whole time. Seeing her sing out of tune made me weep. When my kids had hurt themselves or were sick, I was there for every single parent-teacher meeting and late-night feverish episode.

She said I was her happiness, her safety and her real Dad. This section always contains just one name: Emergency Contact.

Thank you was never a request I made.

She turned into this impressive, intelligent young woman, as if she were created from extreme pressure. Her drive, good scholarships and sheer tenacity allowed her to get into college. She made her way across that stage with her cap tilted and her tassel swinging.

I held her tight, smelling the fragrance that was hers and softly told her, “We survived, my love.” We finished what we were trying to do.

It seemed for a little while that our sacrifices had cemented our bond and we could never pull apart.

Then she had a meeting with Him.

The name of the boy was Zachary. And everyone called him Zach. Of course, this was definitely something he was able to do.

He was smooth and courteous. Clean-cut. A handshake that shows you are strong and use simple conservative shoes. His job was very stable and well-paid. Great teeth. He rarely asked sincere questions. The kind of man who saw babies as a reflection of their image and used “traditional” as if it was a good thing.

They married each other in a short period.

Even though no one told me to, I put on a blue dress and kept smiling at the wedding. Zach never showed the slightest curiosity about me.

As if it had been entirely up to me if she ever existed at all.

I ought to have seen the problem ahead of time.

Claire gave birth for the first time a few months ago. The boy’s name is Jacob. The first member of my family to be a grandchild.

She let me see her picture online. No caption. Only a picture of a lovely baby boy all swaddled in blue, blinks as though wondering why he is here. Her nose was what he was looking for. Our smiles looked alike to each other.

I went and sat by the bed and wept so much that I placed my face in a pillow. I was not yet sad, though I was supremely full. Of love. Of awe. Through all the years that got us where we are.

Naturally, I was glad to assist him. I suggested I should spend a few days there to help cook, clean and look after the baby while she slept. I just wanted to do something mothers often do when their daughters give birth to children.

She hesitated.

That pause. That quick stumbling sound… it looked like the first piece in a chain of dominoes.

That was the second big warning sign. To be honest, the first thing was realizing that my husband believed Claire became well-adjusted despite me and not because of me.

Claire talked in a dull tone. Limited in softness. It seemed like the lines were written down before and she was saying them with a gun to her heart.

Because of the circumstances, we have decided not to have you visit just now. Zach believes that certain ways the family is structured are not healthy for the baby.

What on earth does that have to do with anything, Claire? I asked.

“Zach…” she was silent for a moment before she continued. He says that we shouldn’t raise our child to believe that being a single mom is ordinary.

I was simply dumbfounded. Claire saying she had to clean up Jacob’s nappy just flew right over my head. I wasn’t aware of her goodbye or the call being ended.

I kept quiet. Not because there was no reason to speak, but because what hid in my throat was so powerful it might’ve hurt both of us.

She never said I was doing Stella a favor. Not “Mom.” Not “Mama.”

As soon as the call ended, I went into the spare room. I had painted it with soft green and blue colors. I bought the rocking chair used and covered it with new upholstery myself. This one I set up as a nursery to bring the baby home to.

There was a small silver rattle that had come from my mother’s family. I used water, lemon and a cloth to make the silver sparkle beautifully.

Taped inside one of the dresser drawers was a navy blue box. That place was holding all the college memories I had developed over time. Each penny, every birthday gift and Peter’s gifts from Claire: each and every bit was for my first grandchild.

I lay down on the floor. For some time, I simply let myself feel the pain.

I feel everything that comes up for me. The rejection. The erasure. The pain of feeling she’d ruined her clean, organized life.

I put all my things into a box after that.

Early the following day, I went to the church food pantry by car. I spent more than six months volunteering at that place. Sorting the cans, giving out diapers and filling the chipped mugs with coffee.

That experience led me to meet Maya. At the age of 24, she no longer had a retail job. Maya’s daughter Ava was a calm and peaceful baby who would rarely cry, preferring instead to fit close to Maya’s chest just in case the world betrayed her.

As I went in, Maya looked away from her place in the corner. She seemed very tired. I was reminded of Claire, before everything started to become complicated, by what I saw in her.

I told them, “Please wait just a second.” I’ll go and get some tea for us.

She answered with a nod and a smile.

I set two cups of tea down and got a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. After that, I sat and gave her the box.

“For… her?” Maya blinked. “Why?”

.

For no other reason than that I wanted to, I said.

She unwrapped it carefully because she was afraid it might vanish. The blanket shook a little in her nervous hands as she removed it.

It looks like these were made by hand. she asked with her eyes wide.

“All of them, love. And they’re very precise.”

This made her burst into tears then. The type of cry where the whole body participates. Then she lifted her arms, unfastened Ava from the carrier and gave me my baby.

She said, “It’s been weeks since I tried to eat with both of my hands.”

So I found myself holding Ava. Maya went to get some warm soup and while she was gone I kissed and rocked the baby.

Maya noted that it’s unusual not to have to shush, bounce or wipe her daughter while eating, observing as she tried to eat her bread roll.

So I said, “That’s why I came.”

Then, I Me felt something that I hadn’t felt in awhile.

Gratitude. That experience, the knowledge and memories are mine, I have earned them.

Three whole weeks went by.

While having a slice of banana bread at the table, my phone rang.

The person who came was Claire.

Her tone was different right from her saying hello.

He doesn’t lend a hand, Mom. At all. He admitted that the big jobs are not something he usually handles. Not one diaper has been changed by him. So what is the purpose…?”

“Claire…” I spoke with hardly a whisper, not sure of what was going to come out of my mouth.

The child is constantly crying. I’m exhausted. I’m trying to do everything by myself!” she wailed.

I shut my eyes. Her voice was faltering which sounded to me like an unraveling of some kind. A surrendered stance and not an angry one. It was hearing the final truth in the voice of a woman who has stopped deceiving herself.

I let the kids talk through their ideas before giving solutions. I said it, not just said I would, even though I had already planned what to say. I simply listened to her.

I said to her, “It can be hard being a mom.” This is often the case for parents doing parenthood on their own. Occasionally, the roles in marriage can make a mom feel like a single mom too.

She hesitated before she said anything. This silence had a different kind of warmth this time.

Being able to see it from the other person’s point of view is what really mattered. It was being heard without someone saying a word.

Then she could not hold back her sobs. A much stronger reaction than a few sniffles, it was loud, open sobbing. I’m sorry—was what I had to say. She confessed she feared confronting her abuser. That she thought by confronting him, he would leave.

“All I hoped for was that it would work, ”she murmured. Because of all this, I decided to separate you from the group.

I understood, I said. The wish to make it work is stronger when you grew up knowing your parent did it all by themselves.

She said, “I never wanted to be like you.” But I finally realize how much it took for you to show strength.

That was too much for me. I disclosed the whole truth to her.

This is your home away from home, so you have a bed as soon as you need it. And I’d like to have a hot meal too. There were endless good meals served. She has never lost the love she has for you.

It was two days later when she arrived. Two pieces of luggage and a stroller.

There were not any big ceremonies. Not a long fight. His call didn’t come through. He did not ask her to stay. He came up with a dumb reason.

It’s not what I agreed to, Claire. He gave his opinion,” and passed the divorce papers to his lawyer.

Claire was assigned to the guest room which was where Jacob hoped to find his blanket. She spoke very little her first night there. She took her time eating, soon afterward looked after the baby in the diaper, something she once explained Zach never wanted to do. She ate something and then went to sleep while I was rubbing her back on the couch.

My daughter appeared much more grown up and mature in the morning. But her shoulders were a little lower than before. Like the first piece of armor was finally removed.

We began going to church together again. The two of us sit in church and her messy hair is wrapped in a bun as Jacob squirms around in her arms. She does not sing the hymns, but she mouths the words while in church.

We usually have Maya and Ava join us for Sunday lunch. Roast beef is often cooked slowly, served with potatoes and thick gravy made from the juice.

It looked like Maya didn’t get any sleep last weekend. Claire offered her some tea and encouraged her with, “Take a walk. Another idea is to go upstairs and rest in my bedroom. It’s not going to take much, max 30 minutes. I am taking care of the kids.

Maya hesitated.

I realize what it means to be very tired and exhausted, Claire said with a smile. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little break sometimes.

A kind of flower appeared in her expression then. Empathy is not the only thing.

But kinship.

Both women have trudged through hard times in their lives in different ways. At this moment, they start to box together and help each other, instead of waiting to be rescued.

A man does lead the church choir. Thomas is his name. His voice is soft and his eyes show real kindness. Eight years in the past, he lost his wife to cancer and he has not married since then.

He regularly volunteers to help carry Ava’s carrier for Maya. Or to handle pushing Jacob’s stroller. He takes spare wipes out of his glove box. He puts granola bars in his coat pocket.

I believe he is fond of Claire by now. It tends to be especially quiet. All children work on their own will. Simple, steady and respectful kindness.

They have discussions after the service on various days. Not so romantic… it’s just the way we are with each other. Everything she has experienced, makes it clear to me that’s precisely the help she needs. No urgency. Not needing to preserve a public image.

Just peace.

And me?

I am very lucky to have a granddaughter named Ava. While Claire is asleep, I stroke my grandson. His fragrance brings out ideas of soap, sleep and another emotion more tender than forgiveness.

I bump and sing to him in the very chair where I once rocked her. That same glider that has sat beside us for while watching over us in sickness and in health.

Sometimes I notice him curling his hand around mine while he rests. Like he is already certain that he is in a safe place. Even if I was away during the delivery, it almost seems as if my son still recognizes me since birth.

When I gaze at him, I tell him what is going on privately.

She was always here for you, working hard for you. However, I hope one day you see what this is about. No, the finest example I ever set for your mama wasn’t perfection. It meant figuring out how to make love last while you held on to it.