Ruby believes that her grandma’s “friend” is someone she knows when Cindy, Ruby’s daughter, says that her grandmother is constantly accompanied by someone. Cindy then reveals that Ruby’s father, William, is the exact name of the “friend,” who passed away some time ago. Here is her story:
Since I am the only kid, my family has always been close-knit. I grew up being very close to my parents. They attended every parent-teacher conference at my school and every field hockey game I played. And when I started college, it didn’t end. Every third week, they dropped by, and Mom always brought food. But everything changed with the death of my father.
I now have a spouse and a kid, Cindy, who is six years old.
My mother has changed with the death of my father. She used to be a “hippie” mother who painted practically everything in sight and wore dungarees. I adored it. I cherished the vibe that accompanied it.
But something changed the day we buried my father. That spirit faded, became a shadow of its former self.
My mother now desires to spend more time at home with us. She particularly enjoys spending time and developing a bond with Cindy. Cindy and I alternately drop her off at my mom’s house or she picks her up and drops her off after their adventures.
However, my daughter has started crying constantly and avoiding her grandmother whenever my Mom drops Cindy off. Mom then fills me in on what they did.
I’m not attempting to concoct any elaborate theories about what goes on when my mother and I are alone because I love her. But I have to say, that worries me.
I recently made the decision to discuss everything with Cindy. Baking is our go-to pastime for creating bonds. She enjoys mixing the mixture and adding the ingredients, then licking the spoonful of leftover batter.
“Honey,” I remarked as I put the flour in the basin and gave it to Cindy to stir. “I have a question for you.”
She answered, “Yes, Mama?”
“Why do you cry when your grandmother comes home? What’s not right? Has anything occurred?”
“That’s three questions,” Cindy remarked sarcastically.
“Tell me, darling,” I murmured, grinning a little.
Cindy exhaled deeply and let out a sigh.
It’s due to the friend of granny. He is constantly present.”
“What friend?” I enquired. “She never does anything with you by herself. Apart from that, you were accompanied to the knitting class by her and her companion, Beth.”
Cindy grinned at the thought.
“But if Grandma is always alone, why does she ask me to say hello to William?”
I whispered, “William?”
Grandma always advises to offer something to William before we eat it. However, I never see him. William, who is he?
My heart nearly leaped out of my chest as I went pale.
The name of my father was William.
“Is William a scary man?” Cindy enquired, misunderstanding my quietness for fear.
It was bewilderment, not dread.
“No, Grandma won’t make friends with bad guys,” I said. “Come on, let’s make our cupcakes and eat them!”
I left my husband Dean and Cindy at home the following day because they had organised a lavish movie marathon, and I had been told to prepare all the food before I left.
I then proceeded to my mother’s residence. I asked her to have a serious conversation when I got there and told her what Cindy and I had talked about.
My mother’s eyes began to well up with tears as her face twisted.
“Oh, Ruby,” she said. “I truly apologise. I didn’t anticipate that it would frighten her.”
“Spooked?” I enquired. “Spooked by what?”
Mama murmured, “Listen, my love,” and reached over the couch to take my hand.
She remarked, “I still feel your father.” And even though I know it’s unhealthy, I still do it. And I still chat to him occasionally.
My mother broke my heart. I found it difficult to accept my father’s passing. However, I didn’t realise how ingrained her pain was.
“I talk to him all the time, Ru,” Mom went on. “It began while I was by myself, and eventually it developed into a coping strategy. Cindy has heard me bring it up a few times. Just serving as a gentle reminder that Grandpa is still alive.”
“I understand, Mom. I recognise that this is how you’re handling the loss of your father. Cindy, though, does not see it that way.”
We sat and talked about my father for several hours on the couch.
“Come,” Mom finally said. “I have donuts.”
I told Mom she needed to sit down and give Cindy an explanation over coffee and pastries.
I said, “Let her hear it from you.”
Mom gave a nod. She realised that although it was a kind act on her part, a sort of coping technique, Cindy shouldn’t have assumed that she had an imaginary buddy that she couldn’t see.
Mom said, ‘I’m so sorry. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I am aware,” I replied. “You have my belief. Is it time for you to visit a psychologist?”
“Oh, Ruby,” Mummy remarked. “Are we there yet?”
Yes, I replied. “There’s nothing wrong with talking to Dad, but it’s the fact that Cindy isn’t sure about spending time with you because of the William thing.”
“Alright,” Mom replied. “I’ll do it.”
Mom has been attending therapy on a regular basis for the past few months. She has resumed painting since it has lifted her spirits.
These days, Cindy and she work on it together.
I thought my kid would be understanding, but she wasn’t.
She cherished having her grandmother around once more. And Mom no longer spoke to my dad in front of us, if at all.
