It breaks my heart that my son wants nothing more to do with me. My daughter-in-law has torn our relationship apart.
The pain of realizing your only child has turned away from you is unbearable. I gave my life to him, sacrificed everything, only to end up alone. Where did I go wrong? Maybe I was too harsh. Maybe too forgiving. Maybe I loved him to my own ruin.
I raised him alone. Men came and went—some after money, some seeking salvation, others just my wages. I carried it all. The ’90s were brutal—I worked myself to the bone so he could eat well and study. I went without meals, without decent shoes or clothes—everything for him.
Then I met a married man, yes, judge me if you must, but he helped my son find his way. He worked in oil and got my son in too. The pay wasn’t much, but it came when we needed it most. It wasn’t the money—it was the support.
My son finished technical college, then university, but no one hired him without experience. He worked in a factory, hated it—wanted to earn, not slave away. I backed him, certain he’d one day have his own business. I poured my last pennies into keeping him on track.
Then he brought *her* home. Pretty but shallow. Spoiled, childish for her age. But if he chose her, I accepted it. Pregnancy, a wedding, hopes. I dreamed of being a grandmother, giddy as a schoolgirl. I even arranged their wedding.
A friend lent me money for their rings. I told her, “Pick something modest—this is for both of you.” She chose a ring three times the budget, not caring if her husband went without. From that moment, I was the enemy—just for setting limits.
I stayed silent. Bought them a car so he could drive for extra cash. Thought I was easing their burden. Then it all fell apart. The baby was difficult, cried endlessly. He worked day and night, helpless. Her parents sneered, “What kind of father is he?” “What kind of husband?” They sold the car. Income dropped. Then—divorce. He started drinking. Lost his license. Everything crumbled.
I pulled him out of it. Forced him back on his feet. He stood again, even started a business—but it’s all in my name: bailiffs, debts, loans. And yes—he gambled. Tried to win it all back at once. Failed. I covered wages, kept the business afloat. Just so he’d succeed.
When money returned—so did she. They reunited. Now he avoids me. Everything’s in my name, yet I feel like a stranger. They rent a flat, live apart. She never calls. My granddaughter is spoiled, uninterested in anything. And my son says, “Grandmothers should help.” I don’t refuse—but they only call when they need something.
Then he said, “Quit your job. I need help.” I did. Now I’m without wages, waiting for scraps. Often, nothing comes. He gave me a car—but won’t cover insurance. Takes it back, returns it. When I drove it, it broke down. Faulty all along. I’m frightened.
I took out a loan for *his* car. At first, he paid. Now—silence. Calls go unanswered. The house we lived in? He split it with his ex-wife. Now I’m not invited for Christmas or birthdays—only when they want a babysitter for a night out.
Recently, I visited him at work—he shouted at me. Said I embarrassed him. Why? I don’t drink. I was in the Writers’ Guild. Spent my life helping him. I just wanted to see my son.
Now they’ve blocked me. Can’t even call. I cry at night, lost. After all I gave—this is how he treats me. I still apologize: “If I ever spoke wrong, forgive me.” Silence.
I keep wondering—where did I fail? What did I do? Why does my son want nothing to do with me? That question—worse than any pain.
