I arrived home after work, and my son hugged me, started crying, and said that he didn’t want to remain with his grandmother anymore: I was startled to find out why.
I raised my son alone. My husband departed when the child was less than a year old.
Since then, I’ve worked in two places. Our modest family relied only on my shoulders. My mother usually assisted me out. Sometimes I had to hire a nanny, but it was costly.
I was grateful to my mother for her assistance, though I did notice some peculiarities. She could forget something crucial and speak out of context, as if she were in the clouds. But I attributed everything to exhaustion or age.
And one day, my son informed me:
– Can’t you work anymore, Mom?
– No, son, – I smiled and stroked his hair. – We need money for rent, food, and your toys. Why are you asking?
He shrugged and said, “That’s interesting.”
I ignored it at the time. I assumed it was just youthful curiosity. However, a few days later, something occurred that turned everything upside down.
I got back from my work in the evening. My youngster raced up to me, hugged me firmly, and then burst into tears.
– Mom, please do not leave me with Grandma anymore.
I was taken aback.
– Why, darling? Are you bored? Or did Grandma punish you?
– She… is acting strangely. I am afraid.
– What has she done?
The son glanced away, his voice trembling:
– It pained me… Please do not allow her come again.
I felt chilled inside. But the boy couldn’t explain anything properly; he was shivering and mute, as if terrified to talk. I called my mother. She assured me that everything was great, that they were playing, and that my son had just made it up.
But I saw that my son was not lying. His eyes were filled with genuine terror.
The next day, I took the day off. I told my mother I was going to work and hid in the closet in the bedroom. My heart was pounding so hard that I believed I would be heard.
But then she grabbed the child’s hand, twisted it, and got a rope out of her suitcase to tie his wrists.
The son called out for me. Mom stepped forward and roughly covered his mouth with her palm. But the worst part happened next. She raised her head towards the ceiling and spoke:
– See? I did what you told me.
She listened to someone invisible before laughing, dully and heartbreakingly.
– No, he will not leave… He’s ours.
I couldn’t take it and jumped out of the closet:
– Mom! What are you doing!
She turned around. Her eyes were wild and full of light.
“The voices said so,” she explained quietly.
– What voices?
“They’re with me. “They’re always with me…” She grinned before abruptly crying and laughing again.
My son was sobbing, so I hurried to him, loosened his hands, and hugged him. Mom stood still, saying something into the void.
I went my mom to the doctor. Following the examinations, I learned the diagnosis: schizophrenia.
I felt terrified and hurt. This was my mother, the one who once protected, reared, and loved me. And now… she could harm my son.
