My Mother’s Best Friend Was Held Prisoner by Her Daughter

Wendy (in the middle with glasses on) and friends at a summer picnic.

This is Sally’s story as told by Irena Kaci. Our “Opening Our Hearts” stories are based on people’s real-life experiences. By sharing these experiences publicly we hope to help our readers feel less alone in their grief and, ultimately, to aid them in their healing process. In this story Sally tells the story of her mother’s best friend Wendy’s dying, after a few tumultuous years at the end of her life.

Wendy was my mom’s best friend. The two met when they were in grade school and were inseparable from then on. It’s amazing to think of knowing someone your whole life like that. No one, not your spouse, not your children, have a grasp of your life’s scope the way that someone who met you as a child does. Add to that the fact that my mom remained very close to Wendy until her own death, and it is arguably the most important relationship in her life. I mean, I know she loved me more, but I cannot compete with the way they knew each other.

Wendy died at 92 years-old. My mother died two years before that. Until my mother died, they were on the phone about once a week with one another, and they would talk for at least an hour at a time. When my mom died, I took it upon myself to keep calling Wendy. I’d call her every couple of months. It felt a lot like staying connected to my mom. It felt like I was doing what she would’ve wanted me to do. I’d known Wendy my whole life, too, and she was just the sweetest person.

Wendy got married after college and had two daughters: Juliet and Layla. Because Wendy was such a fixture in my mom’s life, I got to know most of her life story during the weekly phone calls. My mom would also tell me stories about Wendy’s kids, and Layla’s antics in particular always stayed with me. I remember one time when Layla was old enough to start dating, she had boyfriend. He was memorable because he famously jumped through a plate glass window to talk to Layla after she had broken up with him. Something about Layla always felt off to me.

And that was the end of that. That’s how Wendy was, kind in this very matter-of-fact, money where your mouth is way.

Wendy was such a kind and generous person. Being an only child she had always looked for connection and belonging. I think that’s what made the friendship with my mom so special. One day she went to the movies wearing a prized mink coat, and during intermission she met a homeless woman outside the theater. She was quite destitute and Wendy without hesitation gave her the mink coat to pawn. And that was the end of that. That’s how Wendy was, kind in this very matter-of-fact, money-where-your-mouth-is way.

In my 20s, I moved to New York. Around the same time Layla –Wendy’s youngest daughter –moved there as well. Once my mom and Wendy figured that out, they wouldn’t let up until I agreed to go out with Layla for a meal. I think they entertained hopes of Layla and me ending up like the two of them, but I was skeptical. I went out to dinner with Layla just once and we didn’t click at all.

Over the years, the more I heard about her, the less I understood her. Living in New York in those days was just full of opportunity. NYC was bustling, and for people like us in our 20s, everything seemed possible. So while I worked my way up in my career, I kept hearing stranger and stranger stories about Layla. Sometimes she was living with a nasty boyfriend; sometimes she was stripping wallpaper for a living. I remember even then thinking, what is going on with her? Why does she seem to make such odd and difficult choices? It wasn’t really my business, and it’s not like I was dwelling on it. But I know that my mother and Wendy would talk about it often and that Wendy was always worried about Layla.

For me, life just went on.

Even as a young woman, Wendy’s daughter Layla seemed a little off to me

By the time Wendy and my mother were in their late 70s, Wendy had done quite well for herself. She was twice divorced, but Wendy had worked her way up in her career and had managed to buy a very nice house. It always made my mom happy that her friend was doing so well.

It was while Wendy was in her late 70s that Layla turned up again in our lives. This time she had left NYC and decided she was going to move back home with her mom. I don’t even think Wendy felt like she had a choice; they didn’t discuss it or anything, Layla just moved in. After that things, just kept getting worse for Wendy.

First she kicked Wendy out of her own bedroom, forcing Wendy to sleep in a tiny sofa in the main living area.

This is the part of the story that really breaks my heart. It is unthinkable that Wendy had to continue struggling at the hands of her own daughter in her golden years. But Layla had brought whatever negativity she seemed to always attract right along with her. First, she kicked Wendy out of her own bedroom, forcing Wendy to sleep in a tiny sofa in the main living area. The sofa was not actually large enough for Wendy’s body, but I don’t know if Layla would’ve cared about that even if she had noticed. Then Layla started controlling how much food Wendy would get everyday. This was done under the guise of “caring her for health,” but Wendy didn’t have any health issues. Before long, Layla had a stronghold on Wendy’s finances and was effectively controlling everything.

My mom was Wendy’s primary, if not only, confidante during this time, but even with my mom she could only confide little bits and pieces. I think she was terrified of Layla and would try to wait for Layla to be gone to work or on errands to talk to my mother. I also think she felt responsible and ashamed,and it made her not able to share everything.

The fact that Layla could intimidate Wendy made any outside interference really difficult.

At one point, Wendy’s neighbor had an altercation with Layla. Layla lost her temper with the neighbor and had stormed off. So the neighbor went to Wendy to talk to her about Layla, and during that conversation, he realized that Wendy was effectively a prisoner in her own home. I know he tried to help Wendy a few times, but it was useless. The fact that Layla could intimidate Wendy made any outside interference really difficult.

Communication with Wendy became more intermittent and increasingly distressing to my mom. My mom would call me to vent her distress, and it was during this time that I started reading about sociopaths and psychopaths and the various presentations for these personality disorders. Some people are just not born with emotions. It was learning about all this when it finally clicked for me. All the stories about Layla finally snapped into focus. I think Layla may well qualify as someone with no or limited emotions. Now Layla had gotten a hold of Wendy’s life and was slowly killing her in hopes of inheriting everything.

Wendy and my mom in a rowboat

I think part of the pain I still process is that we just didn’t know everything, and there are times that I think that maybe if she’d told me more details, I would’ve done something more. After my mom died, I sort of became the replacement lifeline. I called Wendy regularly and would continue to try to talk to her. I was living many states away, so even when I thought about trying to report Layla, I always had this sense that it wouldn’t be enough. Layla could always come back, and there would be no stopping her. It was so painful to think that Wendy’s end-of-life experience was constantly feeling unwanted by her daughter ,who was waiting around for her to die. After a while, Wendy started losing mobility. She stopped walking after my mom died.

I miss Wendy’s sweet “Hi honey!” whenever I would call,

One day Wendy’s phone was suddenly disconnected. I managed to scrounge up her older daughter Juliet’s phone number and texted her. I could tell she did not want to talk very much, but she promised she’d update me when she learned more. When Juliet finally called me back, she confirmed what I had suspected; her mother had been dead for about a month. It was a strained conversation. All she was able to say was “I was worried for a bit because I know how unkind Layla can be, but she really did take good care of mom in the end.” I was so desperate for more details about Wendy’s passing, but –in their eyes –I was so far removed that it really felt inappropriate to push.

I miss Wendy’s sweet “Hi honey!” whenever I would call, it radiated so much kindness and warmth. I miss how much Wendy made me feel connected to my own mother, long after she was dead. Wendy was full of stories about my mom’s formative years. Losing her was like losing my mom just a bit more. I am so grateful that she was such a wonderful and steadfast friend to my mother. I think it really was a struggle for my mother to listen to Wendy during those last years; my mother was always quick to shut down bad behaviors. It makes me sad to think Wendy just didn’t have the wherewithal to defend herself, to fight for her own wellness. And I’m still mourning the fact that no one else, not even myself, was able to do it for her.