A startling revelation from a tearful granddaughter leaves the family perplexed about Grandma’s Mysterious Friend.
When Cindy, Ruby’s daughter, claims that her grandmother is always accompanied by someone, Ruby assumes that her grandmother’s “friend” is someone she knows. Cindy goes on to say that the “friend” was actually Ruby’s father, William, who sadly passed away a while back. This is her account:
My family is small and has always been tight. I am the only child. My parents and I had a tight relationship. They were at every field hockey game I played and every parent-teacher meeting at my school. And that continued once I enrolled in college. They came by every third week, and Mom always brought food. But after my father passed away, everything was different.
I now have a spouse and a six-year-old daughter named Cindy.
Since my father’s passing, my mother has undergone changes. She was formerly a “hippie” mother who wore dungarees and painted almost anything in sight. I loved it. I loved the atmosphere that went with it.
But on the day of my father’s burial, something changed. That spirit dimmed and eventually turned into a shadow of itself.
My mother wants to be with us at home more often now. She especially likes hanging out and getting to know Cindy. After their outings, Cindy and I take turns dropping her off at my mom’s place, or she picks her up and drops her off.
But when my Mom drops Cindy off, my daughter has started to weep all the time and shun her grandmother. My mother then tells me everything they did.
Because I adore my mother, I’m not trying to come up with any complex theories about what happens while we’re alone. However, I must admit that bothers me.
I recently decided to talk to Cindy about everything. Our go-to activity for bonding is baking. She likes to mix the ingredients together, add the mixture, and then lick the spoonful of leftover batter.
As I added the flour to the basin and gave it to Cindy to stir, I said, “Honey.” “I want to ask you a question.
Her response was, “Yes, Mama.”
“When your grandmother comes home, why do you cry? What is incorrect? Has anything happened recently?
That’s three questions, Cindy mockingly said.
I mumbled, smiling a little, “Tell me, darling.”
Cindy sighed and let out a long breath.
It’s because of Granny’s pal. He is there all the time.
Which pal? I asked. She never takes action on her own with you. Other than that, she and her companion, Beth, escorted you to the knitting class.
Cindy smiled at the idea.
“However, why does Grandma ask me to greet William if she is by herself all the time?”
“William?” I muttered.
Grandma always says to give William something to eat before we do. I never see him, though. Who is this William?
I turned pale, my heart practically jumping out of my chest.
My father’s name was William.
William, is he a terrifying man? Cindy asked, taking my silence as a sign of dread.
It was confusion rather than fear.
I replied, “No, Grandma won’t be friends with bad guys.” “Let’s bake and consume our cupcakes, please!”
The next day, I left my husband Dean and Cindy at home because they had planned a luxury movie marathon, and I had been instructed to make all the food ahead of time.
I went to my mother’s house after that. When I got there, I told her what Cindy and I had discussed and asked if we could have a serious conversation.
My mother’s face contorted, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Oh,” she said. “I really apologize. I had no idea that it would make her nervous.
“Afraid?” I asked. “What’s spook me?”
“Listen, my love,” Mama said as she leaned over the couch to grab my hand.
“I still feel your father,” she said. And I continue to do it even though I know it’s unhealthy. And I still talk to him now and again.
My heart was broken by my mother. It was hard for me to accept my father’s death. I was unaware of how deeply ingrained her suffering was, though.
Mom said, “I talk to him all the time, Ru.” It started while I was by myself and gradually turned into a coping mechanism. Cindy’s heard me mention it once or twice. Just a simple reminder that your grandfather is still among us.
“I get it, Mom. I understand that you’re coping with your father’s passing in this way. Cindy, though, has a different perspective.
We spent hours together on the couch, discussing my father.
Mom finally said, “Come.” “I’m eating donuts.”
I advised Mom she should have coffee and pastries and sit down to explain things to Cindy.
“Let her hear it from you,” I said.
Mom nodded. Cindy realized that even while it was a selfless gesture, a coping mechanism of sorts, Cindy wasn’t right to believe that she had an imagined friend that she couldn’t see.
Mom apologized profusely, saying, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I understand,” I answered. “I believe in you. Is it time to go see a mental health professional?
“Oh, Ruby,” said Mummy. “Have we arrived yet?”
Yes, I answered. “Talking to Dad is fine; it’s just that Cindy is unsure about spending time with you because of the William situation.”
“All right,” Mom answered. “I’ll carry it out.”
For the past few months, Mom has been going to therapy on a regular basis. She has picked up painting again since it makes her feel better.
Cindy and her work on it together these days.
My child wasn’t as understanding as I had hoped.
She loved having her granny home again. And Mom hardly ever talked to my dad in front of us anymore.
