Things change.
And people do. And I believe in second chances.
My son’s
Grandmother (his biological Mother’s Mother) is Russian and lives in Russia.
After his Mother died, we tried our hardest to make it work so that she could
see him and he could see her. That was, of course, until she threatened to take
me to court for full custody. She was advised by her own legal team her chances
would be limited, given the fact he had lived with me full time before his
Mother’s death, was in happy, loving and
secure home environment and has expressed his wish to remain in it. So, instead
she embarked upon a plan to effectively kidnap him.
Since this plan
was discovered, my son has not seen his Grandmother.
Last week, we
received a letter from his Babushka. It was full of apologies. She misses her
Grandson and she needs him back in her life. “Please call me,” she asked at the
end and included new contact details.
I agonised over
it for a day or two, spoke to my wife and agonised some more. But I realised
that I forgive her. She tried to take the most precious thing in my life from
me, but I hold no further grudges. It all worked out well – he is here with me
and he is happy.
She wrote in her
letter about her behaviour being the result of losing her daughter. She told me
it was an irrational reaction to a painful situation she never believes any
parent should face.
I believed her
letter. It has an air of the genuine about it. I don’t think she’s up to
anything unsavoury.
But it wasn’t just
my forgiveness she needed. For a young boy, my son is mighty in tune with what’s
going on. He knows why he doesn’t see Babushka anymore. He accepts it. So I
showed him the letter.
“What do you
think, kiddo?” I asked him
“What do you
think, Dad?” he replied.
“I think that we
have two choices. We either believe her or we don’t. If we believe her, we call
her. And if we don’t believe her, then we don’t call her. We forget all about
it.”
I didn’t want to
share with him my opinion. I wanted him to decide free of any influence.
“Let me think
about it,” he said and he took the letter from my hands and went off to his
room.
He emerged an
hour or so later.
“I believe her,
Dad,” he told me. “But we both need to believe her don’t we? Do you believe
her?”
“Yes.”
So we called her.
I spoke to her first and as soon as I said, “It’s Adam,” she burst into tears.
“I’m so relieved
to hear from you.”
Her English is
improved from the last time we met. She tells me she’s been to classes in the
hope she will see her Grandson again one day and just in case his Russian is
rusty after so long in the UK without any native Russian speakers in his life.
I heard genuine
relief, I heard an overwhelming sense of apology and self-accountability for
what happened. And that was enough for me.
“Would you like
to speak to him?”
It didn’t need an
answer. They spoke for 10 or 15 minutes. We agreed we would call her back again
this week and we said we would talk about her coming here to see him.
I don’t trust her
enough yet not to be with them when
these meetings happen. Forgiveness? Yes. But trust is hard won. And that will
take more time. But my son is willing to give it a try and I owe it to the
memory of his beautiful hearted Mother to do my best to make it work.
So we’ll arrange
a visit. After all, this broken hearted ageing lady has already lost a
daughter. She shouldn’t lose a Grandson as well.
