Last month, at long last, I became a grandmother. I floated through the mist of happiness, flighty as a feather, eagerly counting down to the day when I could finally visit the baby. But we arent welcome. My daughter-in-law, Sophie, always lets her displeasure ripple across her face. We brought gifts, so many trinkets wrapped up in ribbon, even slipped a little bundle of pounds into her palm, but she shrinks from our visits as if we bring a chill with us. My sister-in-law Alice is the sameicy as a winter morning.
I cant help but feel wounded; after all, I think of myself as every inch the doting grandmother. My daughter-in-law was rude to both me and my daughter Emily, though Emily only meant to offer a few pearls of wisdom. Emilys been through all this beforeshes got three children of her own. To make matters more peculiar, Sophie gave half of our gifts back. Apparently, newborns dont need cuddly teddies, she said. But babies grow, dont they? Surely the toys will find their day. Why toss out what could one day be loved?
When we came to visit, no one offered even a cup of tea. My son just sat there, silent, eyes lowered, as if hed forgotten the taste of wordscertainly not the lord of his own home. We drove back, the drizzle trailing down the windows, and I cried quietly, drifting in the shock of an unwelcome greeting.
Since then, I only glimpse my grandson in fluttering photographs. I cant bring myself to visit anymore. I invite my children round to ours, but Sophie wont step foot inside. I asked my son to simply meet me in the park with the pram, but he couldnt sway Sophies mind. She seems to sift through his every move, and doesnt wish to let him wander.
Sophie feeds the baby with formula, only to avoid exhaustion. Shes convinced we will judge her, so she shields herself behind closed doors. But truly, I dont careso long as I can see my granddaughters face. I would never scold her. Every mother must find her own melody.
Our relationship was once as easy as a summer breeze; her parents and I always got on well enough. But after my grandsons birth, its as if Sophie slipped through some looking glassI hardly recognise her. I never did her any wrong, so why the sudden frost? My friends are forever confused. Imagine, a grandchild, but you never see him, they say, shaking their heads.
My mother left the flat to me, in her will. I had planned to sell and split the proceeds between my son and Emilygive them both a sturdy leg up. But after all this, my husband insists we ought to rent it out to tenants instead. Why reward such lack of gratitude? he says, steely-eyed. Theres a cold wisdom in his words, perhaps. In the dusk of our lives, who will look after us then? I suppose thats the greatest sadness of all…
