Though I detest confrontation most of the time, for my children I will never back down. I never mentioned to her the hurt she imparted on me. That was not new. I asked her about the attempt on my children's emotions. She was either in denial or oblivious because surely one could not be so aberrant to grandparenting. Never receiving an answer, I hang up with her, more upset than before and let the tears come. I could not let her harm my children. I would not.
The next few months were a time of grieving for me. I grieved for the mother I thought she was, for the mother I had always wanted and for the mother that I had. Saddened by the events that which had brought me to this place, I sought within myself for a strength to understand what had happened and why. I could not grasp why hurt was such a strong weapon. Words that bore into my soul and actions that brought back flashes of memories I wanted to stay buried. Why would a mother do that to her child, to her grandchildren?
My husband was my stronghold throughout this time. His parents were my anchors. Without them and their support, my reckoning would have drew every ounce of self-preservation I had left. With them by my side, I began to heal. His parents supported and loved me without faltering. Our marriage finally blossomed the way a man and wife should cultivate their blooms. We found our partnership knotted at the core, stronger than ever, just when we needed it the most.