I OVERHEARD MY SON SAYING ON THE PHONE, ‘HI, MOM! I’LL VISIT YOU TOMORROW INSTEAD OF GOING TO SCHOOL!’ So I DECIDED TO FOLLOW HIM. See you tomorrow! ’ I felt like the air had been knocked out of my lungs. I did not say anything to my husband. I did not confront my son. I needed to see for myself. So, the next morning, when he left for ‘school,’ I secretly followed him. And what I saw? I was not ready. He walked past the school, turned onto the next street, and stopped in front of a house I did not recognize. Then, he knocked. A few seconds later … the door opened … in front of him stood a …..
… in front of him stood a frail, elderly woman with silver hair and a trembling smile.
My heart was pounding in my ears. Who was this woman? Was my son living a double life? Was I adopted and he had found my biological mother? A million crazy thoughts raced through my mind.
I watched from behind a large oak tree across the street. The woman opened her arms, and my teenage son—who usually shied away from hugs—leaned down and embraced her gently.
“Hi, Mom! I brought those cookies you like,” I heard him say clearly.
The woman patted his cheek, her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, David. You’re such a good boy. Come in, come in.”
They went inside and closed the door. I stood there, frozen. David? His name wasn’t David. His name was Jacob.
I waited. I sat on the curb for over an hour, my anger turning into pure confusion. Finally, the door opened. Jacob stepped out, waved goodbye, and promised, “I’ll see you next week, Mom.”
As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight of the house, I stepped out.
“Jacob!” I shouted.
He jumped, his face going pale when he saw me. “Mom? What… what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” I snapped, tears stinging my eyes. “I heard you on the phone. I saw you go into that house. Who is she? Why did you call her Mom? Why did she call you David?”
Jacob looked at the ground, shifting his backpack nervously. He let out a long sigh.
“Mom, please don’t be mad,” he said softly. “That’s Mrs. Higgins. I met her a few months ago when I was walking home from practice. She was struggling with her groceries, so I helped her carry them to her door.”
He looked up at me, his eyes earnest. “She has dementia, Mom. Pretty bad. When I helped her that day, she looked at me and started crying. She thought I was her son, David.”
I stayed silent, listening.
“I asked her neighbor about it,” Jacob continued. “David died in a car accident twenty years ago. He was her only family. When she saw me, she thought he had finally come home. I didn’t have the heart to correct her. So… once a week, I skip first period study hall. I go over there, I let her call me David, we eat cookies, and she tells me stories about ‘my’ childhood.”
He paused, looking at the house. “For one hour a week, she isn’t lonely and confused. She’s happy. I just… I couldn’t take that away from her.”
The anger in my chest evaporated instantly, replaced by an overwhelming wave of emotion. I looked at my son—my compassionate, wonderful son—and realized I hadn’t lost him at all. I had raised a good man.
I walked over and pulled him into a tight hug.
“You’re in so much trouble for skipping school,” I whispered into his shoulder, crying happy tears. “But… I have never been more proud of you.”
“Can I meet her?” I asked, pulling back.
Jacob smiled. “Yeah. But you have to be ‘Auntie Sarah.’ That’s who she thinks is visiting next week.”
“Deal,” I said. “Let’s go buy her some flowers.”
