My daughter called me in tears. She was in severe pain after recently giving birth and needed to go to the hospital. She asked if my husband could watch her kids.
I told her to forget about it as he can’t handle 3 kids at his age. She went quiet for a bit, and I suggested she call her mother-in-law instead. There was a long pause.
Then she said, “She’s out of town, Mom. You’re the only one I have right now.” Her voice was trembling, and I could hear the baby crying in the background. My heart tightened, but I stayed quiet for a few seconds longer than I should have.
In truth, I didn’t want to deal with the chaos. I loved my grandkids, but three under the age of six, all full of energy and one still in diapers? I wasn’t sure I had it in me anymore.
My husband had just gotten out of a rough winter with his back, and the idea of chasing after toddlers felt overwhelming. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said half-heartedly. She didn’t say much after that.
Just, “Okay. Thanks,” and she hung up. I didn’t call back right away.
I sat in my chair staring at the TV that was still playing some old rerun. My husband glanced over, sensing something was off. “Everything alright?” he asked.
“She wants us to watch the kids. She’s in pain, maybe something from the birth. Wants to go to the ER.”
He sat up a bit straighter.
“She alright?”
“I don’t know. I told her you can’t run after three kids, which you can’t.”
“Well,” he sighed, “maybe I can’t run after them, but I can hold a baby. Maybe read them a book or two.
What are we gonna do, let her suffer?”
His words landed like a stone in my chest. He was right. I called her back fifteen minutes later, but she didn’t answer.
I texted, “Come drop the kids. I’ll watch them.” No reply. Another hour went by.
Then two. I called again. Nothing.
Later that night, around 9:30 PM, I got a message from her husband: “She drove herself to urgent care. They admitted her overnight. Infection.
I’m flying back from Chicago now.”
My chest sank. She drove herself. While in pain.
After giving birth. And I had been watching a cooking show on TV. I barely slept that night.
The next morning, I asked my husband if he thought we messed up. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
“We did.”
We drove over to their house at 8 AM. Her husband had just returned, and he looked like he hadn’t slept either. He thanked us when we offered to help, but I could tell there was something behind his eyes.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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