by Faye Westlake Newman

Created on: May 30, 2009   Last Updated: May 31, 2009

Most writers who respond to this title will speak of their mothers-in-law as the traditional ogre to brides. Mine wasn't, though I thought so, but this isn't a story about her. This is a story about a special treasure: my daughter-in-law.

Jo (not her real name) and I have gotten along fairly well, for the most part. She's the mother of two of my precious granddaughters, and she's doing an admirable job of parenting. Besides, my son is happy, and what more can a mother ask?

Jo worked for me for a time, and I practiced my usual style of supervision: teach an employee the job and then get out of the way and let her do it. That worked for us, and we did well together for over two years before I suffered a stroke and was forced to close my business.

After that, we were friendly when we saw each other, but neither of us went out of our way to seek the other's company very often. She has told me since that she wasn't always sure I liked her, and I'm sorry for that. She's a special person, attractive, energetic, and intelligent. She cares about others and frequently goes out of her way to be helpful. Her home has always been much cleaner than mine; she has worked for most of their marriage; and her children have never been involved in a school or other function without at least one parent present, until one went off to college. To top that, she was a 4-H horse leader while her daughters were members. Does she sound like a human dynamo? Just wait.

Two years ago, my son, her husband, went off to the Middle East. My heart flip-flopped as he left, but it was his choice. In his forties, he was still a member of the Navy Reserve. Jo was left alone to tend her job, their teenager, the daughter in college, their home, five acres and several horses. As if that weren't daunting enough, a few months later, I fell ill with a serious infection in my spine, one that resulted in excruciating pain, an overload of medication, and six months of hospitalization, and she tended me.

Most daughters-in-law would be helpful in such a situation; mine spent day after day, night after night, hour upon hour, at my bedside, holding my hand and talking to me, literally keeping me sane. Over-medicated, I suffered sleeplessness, hallucinations, and bouts of sheer terror that someone was trying to kill me.

I bit a nurse. We both required HIV testing. I screamed. I called the police and claimed I was being held against my will.

I couldn't walk. My spine was unstable, and I was too afraid

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