My DIL requested me to care my 3-year-old grandson for 5 days since her mom got sick and they had to travel. I concurred. Two days later, her mom posted a video of my son and DIL’s 20-person anniversary party.
Furious, I took her son. I fixed him a peanut butter sandwich, packed a tiny suitcase with his clothes, and drove him two hours to our family cabin without thinking.
Having no Wi-Fi in the cabin was a gift. I needed time to contemplate. I wouldn’t make important decisions while seething. My grandson Nolan was content. Thought we were on a little excursion.
I didn’t call. Not yet. I needed to relax and spend time with the boy. Deep down, something broke. Felt hurt. Lied to. Used.
The story replayed in my thoughts. My DIL, Rachel, cried, stating her mother was critically ill and needed immediate treatment. My silent, nodding son. “Can you keep Nolan, Mom? We wouldn’t ask until serious.”
Of course I agreed. What grandmother wouldn’t? I cleared my schedule, canceled plans, and was ready to care for Nolan anytime. That video, though.
It appeared on my phone while I washed dishes. Rachel’s mom tagged my kid and Rachel in her stories. Candlelight. Laughter. A “Happy 5-Year Anniversary” banner over a hired party hall. Clanking champagne. Rachel’s dazzling dress. My son speaks.
Saw it twice. Then again. My heart pounded. Her mother appeared healthy. She danced with a glass of wine. I had to sit.
Nolan napped while I packed his belongings. A two-word note on the kitchen counter read, “He’s safe.”
First thing in the morning, Nolan and I made pancakes with extra syrup and fed the ducks at the cabin. He created castles from sticks and stones while I told him stories from his father’s youth.
First day was calm. The second day, I used my phone. Over a dozen texts and 27 missed calls.
My son asked, “Where is mom?” It’s not funny.”
Call me now.”
“We’re panicking.”
Please inform us whether Nolan is okay, as requested by Rachel.
A mistake was made. Talk to us.”
Rachel’s mother sent a message apologizing. So I posted without thinking. It wasn’t meant to hurt.”
I remained silent.
I needed to understand our arrival. I taught my son honesty. I liked Rachel. She was warm, knowledgeable. But lying to me—using me—was different.
Nolan and I read “Where the Wild Things Are” three times in a couch cushion fort that night. Every time I did monster voices, he laughed. Something snapped in me when he held me and said, “I love you, Grandma,” that night.
Perhaps it was more than the lie. Maybe it was deeper.
I always felt marginalized. Rachel’s family was close. Large Sunday dinners. Vacations with groups. She routinely visited her folks on holidays. Never grumbled, but sometimes I wanted more questions. I felt like backup grandma. The afterthought.
Suddenly being asked to watch Nolan for an emergency and missing a celebration? It hurt.
After three days, I called my son.
Answering on the first ring. Mom—thank God. Where are you? Is Nolan okay?
“He’s fine. He’s here. We’re safe. At the cabin.”
He exhaled. “Okay. Okay. I was scared.”
“You lied to me,” I whispered. “You said her mom was sick.”
He answered, “I know,” quietly. I’m sorry. Rachel thought…we thought… If we told the truth, you could refuse.”
So that’s your answer? To lie?
Our goal was to not injure you. A couple days together for our anniversary was all we wanted. This year was tough.”
I paused. “You think I would have declined Nolan’s company? Know how that feels?
“I know,” he said. “I erred. We both did.”
I said nothing.
“Can we get him?”
“Not yet,” I responded. He’s having fun. And I need time.”
He didn’t argue.
We stayed two more days. I showed Nolan how to toast marshmallows, find deer tracks, and skip stones. I showed him how to say “thank you” in Spanish and whistle with grass.
One of my best weeks of life.
After I got him home, Rachel opened the door. She had crimson eyes. She knelt and hugged Nolan.
She stood and regarded me. “May I speak? Alone?”
I nodded.
She took me to the kitchen. “I was wrong,” she said. We both were. I thought… Not sure what I think. That I deserved rest? That you’d decline since it wasn’t serious?
I remained mute.
“I’m not used to asking for help,” she said. “But I didn’t want to miss our anniversary. That sounds selfish. Probably is. Lying was wrong. Now I see.”
I regarded her. Not being trusted hurts most. Or included. I was unaware of your anniversary. You thought I wouldn’t accept time with my grandson?
“I do now,” she whispered.
We stood silently.
She astonished me. She grabbed an envelope from a drawer. This was for you. Originally. We planned to give it after the weekend.”
Inside was a card. Front: “To the best grandma.” Two Broadway theatrical tickets I’d always wanted were inside. We received a handwritten card thanking you for your love of our kid. We don’t appreciate you enough. Happy early Mother’s Day. Love, Rachel and Marcus.”
Blinked several times. It surprised me.
“I know it doesn’t fix things,” Rachel remarked, “but it was never meant to be a trick. We bungled it.”
I nodded. Slowly.
Something changed after a few weeks. I received additional invitations. Dinner, not just babysitting. Game nights. Rachel even called to invite me over to make my renowned stew.
She said one afternoon, “Would you like to do a photo album with Nolan’s baby pictures? Would appreciate your assistance.”
I Took My Grandson Away – And I Don’t Regret It
