A few days later, Michelle called during the afternoon.
I was sorting through a box of old photographs.
There were pictures of Dale standing beside his tractor.
Pictures of Michelle as a baby.
Pictures from school events.
And several photographs of the grandchildren.
I was looking at one of Sadie wearing a birthday crown when the telephone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mom, it's Michelle."
"Hello, sweetheart."
She sounded tired.
I asked whether everything was all right.
She explained that something had changed with her work schedule.
There was a day the following week when both she and Todd would be busy.
She needed someone to watch the children.
I listened.
Then she asked whether I might be available.
I looked at the photograph in my hand.
"Which day?"
"Thursday."
I thought about it.
I had planned to go shopping that morning.
But I could move the trip.
"What time?"
"Probably from eight until three."
I sat down.
"That's a long day."
"I know."
She paused.
"I don't want you to feel obligated."
I appreciated that.
It was different from the first offer.
She wasn't telling me what I would be expected to do.
She was asking.
I considered the arrangement.
Then I answered.
"I can help on Thursday."
Her voice brightened.
"Really?"
"Yes. But I have one condition."
She became quiet.
"What is it?"
"Don't make it a weekly arrangement."
She laughed softly.
"I won't."
"And if I have plans, I need to be able to say no."
"Absolutely."
I smiled.
"Then Thursday is fine."
She thanked me.
We discussed the children's meals and pickup times.
When the call ended, I returned to the photographs.
I placed Sadie's birthday picture in the album.
Then I looked at another picture.
Michelle was sitting on Dale's lap.
She had a little ribbon in her hair.
I remembered how much she had needed us then.
And how much we had enjoyed helping her.
There was nothing wrong with helping family.
The problem was when help stopped being a choice.
Thursday arrived.
I drove to Michelle's house shortly before eight.
The children were still eating breakfast.
Sadie ran toward me.
"Grandma!"
I hugged her.
"Good morning."
She pointed at the table.
"We're having cereal."
"That sounds delicious."
Michelle handed me a small sheet of paper.
It listed the children's schedules.
I looked at it.
"Thank you."
She smiled.
"I wrote down everything you might need."
I nodded.
This time, it felt different.
The paper wasn't a list of demands.
It was information.
Michelle kissed the children goodbye.
Then she looked at me.
"Call if you need anything."
"I will."
Todd was already gone.
I spent the morning with the children.
We played a game.
We read a book.
Sadie wanted to draw another picture.
I helped her find the crayons.
At lunchtime, we made sandwiches.
The kitchen became messy.
There were crumbs on the counter.
A little juice spilled on the floor.
I cleaned it up.
Not because I was expected to do it.
Because I was the adult there.
And because I wanted the children to enjoy their day.
At two-thirty, Michelle called.
She asked whether everything was going well.
I told her it was.
She sounded relieved.
When she returned, the children were sitting in the living room.
Sadie was showing me a picture.
It had a house with a porch swing.
There was a woman standing beside the door.
"That's you, Grandma."
I smiled.
"Is it?"
She nodded.
"That's your house."
I hugged her.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
Michelle stood in the doorway watching us.
Later, when the children were occupied, she came into the kitchen.
"Thank you for today."
"You're welcome."
She looked at the counter.
"Did they give you trouble?"
I laughed.
"Only the ordinary kind."
She smiled.
Then she said, "I hope you know how much this means to me."
I looked at her.
"I do."
She hesitated.
"Would you be willing to help again sometime?"
I thought about it.
"Sometimes, yes."
She nodded.
"But not every week."
"Not every week."
"And not because I owe you rent."
She looked embarrassed.
"Mom, I understand."
I reached across the counter and touched her arm.
"I know you do."
Before I left, Sadie ran to the front door.
"Grandma, when are you coming again?"
I smiled.
"Next time your mother invites me."
She looked at Michelle.
"Can we invite Grandma?"
Michelle laughed.
"Yes, sweetheart."
I drove home just before supper.
The sky was beginning to turn orange.
When I reached my little house, I parked beside the porch.
I took my keys from my handbag.
One opened the front door.
The other opened the back.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The house was quiet.
I placed my handbag on the chair.
Then I looked at the kitchen drawer Todd had repaired.
It opened smoothly.
I took out a clean cup.
Made myself some tea.
And sat beside the window.
I had spent years believing that being a good mother meant always being available.
I had believed that saying no might cost me someone's affection.
I no longer believed that.
I could help Michelle on Thursday.
I could visit on Sunday.
I could bake cookies with Sadie.
And I could still come home to my own little house.
That evening, I looked at Dale's photograph.
I smiled.
"I think I'm doing all right," I whispered.
And for once, I didn't need anybody else to tell me so.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: The Little House Became a Place My Grandchildren Loved Visiting, and I Discovered That Family Could Feel Close Without Sharing One Roof
My Daughter Had a Price for Giving Her Widowed Mother a Place to Sleep, and I Had to Decide What My Years Were Worth
Part 16 of 20
