ONE DAY, I GOT A CALL FROM HER, AND HER FIRST WORDS WERE, “PLEASE, SAVE ME FROM HIM!”
My mom is disabled, and I pay for a caregiver to help her every day. She refuses to live with us or move into a senior home. My son even offered to take care of her himself, saying I could give the caregiver a break. “Maybe he’s finally becoming responsible?” I thought.
The first week went fine, and he was sweet on the phone, but I noticed that anytime I asked to speak with my mom, he’d say she was busy or asleep.
Then came the scary part. I got a call from my son’s number — but it was my mom’s voice whispering, “Please, come save me from him!” before the call abruptly cut off. I tried calling back, but no answer.
I immediately rushed to her town and drove straight to my mom’s house, my heart pounding with worry. I arrived to find the front door slightly ajar. I pushed it open and called out, “Mom? Jake?” but only silence greeted me.
Walking further into the house, I found my son and my mom in the living room, surrounded by an array of crafting materials, glue, scissors, and stacks of colored paper everywhere. My mom looked up, her face flushed with frustration and exhaustion, but also amusement.
Jake grinned sheepishly and said, “Grandma said she needed to save her living room from my ‘extreme crafting’ ideas. I thought we’d start an Etsy shop together or something.”
My mom chuckled and rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to make a simple scrapbook, but your son here thinks we’re competing on some craft reality show!”
Relief washed over me, and I laughed. “So, the ‘save me’ call was about crafts, not a crisis?”
“Yes,” my mom sighed. “But maybe also save me from another glue gun purchase. He’s already bought four!”
The summer continued with less extreme crafting, but the bond between grandmother and grandson strengthened, filled with creativity and love. And every so often, I’d get a call about another ’emergency’—usually involving glitter, fabric, or an ambitious new project idea.