I guess I can’t ask you to keep it open every week, just in case, but maybe I can

Dear Ima,

I need to start by saying that I feel really fortunate to have you as my mother-in-law. All of the “wacky mother-in-law” jokes never applied to you. You look upon me with admiration; I can do no wrong in your eyes. You are not critical, you have the ultimate lev tov, you are made of the kindest stuff on Earth. You are also one of the greatest baalei chesed I know!

I know because I hear about it everywhere I go. “She’s your mother-in-law?! Wow…. You know, you have the best mother-in-law ever…. She practically saved our family….” And then, they go on to tell me about how you cooked every meal they needed during a crisis, or you housed three of their struggling teens in your tiny apartment, or you took care of their elderly mom or watched their dog or house-sat for them for a month. I nod and smile and say, “Yeah, that sounds just like her!”

But inside…

Inside, I am torn.

Because I know that your chesed comes at an expense.

Let me just say that I’m really not the best daughter-in-law. We went through a time when bringing the little ones over for Shabbos was more of a burden than a help. We have such busy lives that we can’t always drop everything to make the half-hour drive to your place. We don’t call enough, and we don’t come enough, and maybe it’s our fault. But somehow, it feels like we were replaced.

Or maybe we never really had a place to begin with?

Whenever I call or text, “Hey, can we come for Shabbos?” I hear about your latest venture, your new chesed project, the teens sleeping in your spare bedroom or on your couch….

That bedroom should be ours, but it’s not.

I guess I can’t ask you to keep it open every week, just in case, but maybe I can. I know lots of other people who say they won’t give up their guest room until they know for sure that none of their kids are coming for Shabbos. But with you, it seems like I need to book two months in advance because there are always other people in (what I think should be) our refuge.

And it’s not just the space that all your projects takes up — it’s your strength, too. There is always someone to provide for, always someone in major need, and it’s never us, because we are doing “fine.”

I wonder — if there were a young, full-time working mom of three small, rambunctious children on your block, and her parents lived abroad and weren’t able to help her, would you cook for her for Shabbos? Would you invite her over all the time? But I guess since I’m your daughter-in-law, I don’t count.

You spend your weeks cooking up a storm for strangers. And don’t get me wrong — I’m really proud you do! I am so happy they get your delicious food. I just wish we could, too. When the week ends, your energy is sapped. And when I ask, “What’s new? Can we come over for a visit this afternoon?” I hear instead about all your chasadim, and once again we fall to the wayside. But I can’t say that I’m hurt — because that’s selfish.

Ima, I don’t judge you. I don’t even hold it against you. I know there are deep reasons why you find fulfillment in helping outsiders more than your own children, and I can forgive that. And I know that maybe, if we had cultivated a stronger relationship early on, the spare bedroom would still be ours, and we could have more family togetherness now.

But I need to write this letter because maybe someone will read it, and maybe they will say, “Am I putting my kids first as much as I should?” And whether their kids are cute little ones at home or all grown up and married with kids of their own… maybe they will give them just a bit more love. And for that alone, it is worth it for me to share this.

Love always,

Your Daughter-in-Law

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 920)