My spouse, Jake, and I have been married for eight years, and his mother, Linda, 67, has consistently shown us generosity. She purchased our whole living room furniture when we were first married and had very little. She purchased the crib, changing table, rocking chair, and entire set-up for us when we had our first child. She has contributed much to our home’s sense of “completeness” over the years.
Her husband died unexpectedly six months ago. I genuinely felt sorry for her. However, she began visiting frequently—roughly three times a week—after the funeral. At our kitchen table, she would frequently end up crying while she stayed for dinner and talked about “when George was alive.” Even the children began to feel uncomfortable as the atmosphere in the house changed.
She contacted Jake sobbing two weeks before Christmas, pleading to join our dinner because she couldn’t bear to spend Christmas Eve by herself. Jake agreed right away, without consulting me. I had planned a warm Christmas evening for our small family, so I was annoyed, but I forced myself to be okay.
I vented to my sister about the situation a week prior to Christmas. “The least she can do is bring something or chip in if she’s coming to your house for a dinner you’re cooking,” my sister said. And to be honest, that sounded reasonable. Despite frequently dining at our house, Linda has life insurance and her late husband’s pension, but she hasn’t volunteered to contribute to anything.
It’s Christmas Eve. Linda arrives with nothing, settles in, eats, and continues to talk about how much better this is than being by herself. While Jake was putting the kids to bed after supper, I informed Linda that her portion had reached $100 because she had liked the meal so much. I even explained it to her so she would know I wasn’t just making this up.
She gave me a long, fixed look. Then she answered, “Of course,” with this odd little smile. Permit me to retrieve my handbag. She climbed into her coat and walked out. I thought she went to get her wallet from her car.
She came back with two movers an hour later.
She didn’t dispute. She didn’t speak out. She hardly gave me a glance. Calmly, as if running a checklist, she simply began pointing. Our couch, both armchairs, coffee table, dining table and chairs, bedroom dresser, children’s beds, TV stand, and everything else she had ever purchased for us were all taken out by the movers.
She then gave me a sheet of paper.
It was a receipt proving she had given furnishings valued at about $15,000. “Now we’re even,” she remarked, glancing at me. Have a wonderful Christmas. After that, she left.
Our home is essentially deserted now. I’m sleeping on an air mattress with Jake. The children are on the floor in sleeping bags, believing that they are “camping,” yet they are constantly inquiring as to when Grandma will be returning their beds.
Other than saying, “I hope that $100 was worth it,” Jake hasn’t actually communicated with me in three days.
I honestly didn’t believe that asking her to help with a meal was some sort of heinous offense, which is why I’m sitting here in a downward spiral. It made sense to me, especially after months of frequent visits and emotional outbursts at our house.
So, was I really that incorrect? And now, what exactly am I expected to do?
