My son hugged me, broke down in tears, and told me he didn’t want to remain with Grandma any longer when I got home from work. I was astonished to learn why.
My son was reared by me alone. When the child was not quite a year old, my spouse departed.
I’ve held two jobs since then. I was the only provider for our small family. My mother helped most of the time. I occasionally had to hire a nanny, but it was costly.
Even though I occasionally saw odd behavior, I was thankful to my mother for her assistance. She might say inappropriate things, forget crucial details, or act as though she were in the clouds. But I put it all down to old age or exhaustion.
And my son told me one day:
Can you stop working, Mom?
— No, my love, — I gave him a head pat and grinned. We need money for your toys, food, and lodging. Why are you asking?
He shrugged and said, “Just curious.”
I didn’t give it much thought at the moment. I assumed it was merely innocent curiosity. However, a few days later, something occurred that completely upended everything.
After my shift in the evening, I returned home. My son rushed over to give me a quick hug before breaking down in tears.
Please, Mom, don’t abandon me to my grandmother much longer.
I was taken aback.
— Why, sweetheart? Are you missing her? Did your grandmother punish you?
She acts strangely. I’m afraid.
— What did she do?
With a shaky voice, my son turned away:
It was painful. Don’t let her in any more, please.
I got cold inside. However, the boy was unable to articulate it clearly; he shuddered and fell mute, as though he was terrified to speak at all. I gave my mom a call. She reassured me that my son had simply made it up, that they had played, and that everything was OK.
But I could see that my son was telling the truth. There was genuine fear in his eyes.
I took the following day off. I hid in the bedroom closet after telling my mother I was heading to work. I felt like I could hear my heart pounding so loudly.
I witnessed my mom visit my son. Everything appeared benign at first—she repositioned a toy and straightened the blanket. However, after that…
Abruptly, she grasped the youngster by the arm, twisted it, and bound his wrists with a rope she retrieved from her suitcase.
My son screamed and called out to me. My mom approached and put her hand over his lips roughly. However, the worst was still to come. Raising her head to the ceiling, she said:
— See? I followed your instructions.
After listening to an unseen voice, she started to laugh, but it was a forced, muted sound.
– He won’t go, no, no. He belongs to us.
I jumped out of the closet because I couldn’t handle it:
— Mom! What are you doing?
She pivoted. Her eyes were dazzling and wild.
She answered quietly, “The voices told me to.”
— What voices?
– They accompany me. They’re constantly at my side… — she grinned, broke down in tears, and then laughed once more.
My son was crying. I hurried over, freed his hands, and embraced him. My mother was standing still, muttering something into thin air.
I brought my mom to the doctor. There, following tests, I was told I had schizophrenia.
I felt devastated and afraid. This was my mom, the one who used to love me, raise me, and protect me. And she might hurt my son now.
