Warning: This article discusses drug use and family violence
Kelly* is one of an estimated 10,000 grandparents raising 16,000 grandchildren fulltime in New Zealand. She shares her story of heartbreak, hope and unconditional love as she comes to terms with a future where nothing is certain.
Kelly was staying with a friend during Labour weekend last year when her 7-year-old grandson, George, called.
“Hey Nana,” he said, “Mum’s just been arrested.”
It’s a phone call that would floor most grandparents, but Kelly is not most grandparents. She got as much information as she could from George, then asked him to pass the phone to the nearest adult.
It turned out George’s mother — Kelly’s 30-year-old daughter, Ruth — had been picked up for shoplifting in a small town two hours’ drive away. George was in the care of a friend of Ruth’s that Kelly had never met. The next day, Kelly would meet the stranger in a mall carpark to collect her grandson.
George would stay with his grandmother for a week. But by December, he would arrive on her doorstep with only the clothes on his back — not for a holiday, but for good.
George would also be living, for the first time, with his older sister Mia, who had been in her grandmother’s care since she was a baby.
Kelly, 50, is one of an estimated 10,000 Kiwi grandparents who are raising 16,000 grandchildren fulltime, according to 2018 Census data.
There are many reasons grandparents end up in this position, says Brad Clark, CEO of support and advocacy non-profit organisation Grandparents Raising Grandchildren (GRG), but parental drug addiction is the most common factor, followed by mental health issues, family abuse, death and serious illness.
Since it was founded by grandparent carer Di Vivian in 1999, GRG has seen demand for its services — which include support groups, parenting workshops and legal and financial advocacy — increase year on year. It now has more than 6000 members nationwide.
“I’d also say that we’re seeing more complex needs,” Clark says.
“Kids are coming from more difficult circumstances and so they’re dealing with more trauma.”
There’s no profile of a typical GRG member, Clark says. “We see people from across the spectrum — from CEOs to people doing it really tough — and from every cultural background.”
Last year, according to GRG’s annual report, 50.4 per cent of its members were New Zealand European/Pākehā, 40.7 per cent were Māori, and 3.1 per cent Pasifika.
Kelly’s background is about as Kiwi and middle class as it gets.
She was raised by two loving parents — Dad a rural school principal, Mum a homemaker who sometimes helped out in the school office — in a comfortable home with her sister.
At 17, she took a summer job picking fruit, and while out at the local pub one night she met an attractive older man who made her laugh. They started dating and quickly moved in together.
By the time Kelly was 23, she and her partner had two young children — Ruth, her eldest, and son Max. They also had a new drug habit that would end up costing them almost everything.
“At the start [our relationship] was really good,” Kelly says. “We had a little house — it wasn’t flash, but I was really focused on making it nice for us. The kids were happy, we were happy.
“We smoked a bit of pot but nothing else. A mate came over one day and said, ‘do you want to try this’? We didn’t know anything about [methamphetamine] — nobody did back then. We kind of thought, ‘why not’?”
Kelly says she was hooked from the start —“I felt like I had so much energy and confidence” — and she and her partner became regular users. Within six months, the drug had taken over.
“We had a $1000 [-a-week] habit ... the drugs became the main focus. We’d stopped looking after the kids properly, the house was a mess, we were selling whatever we could. We even pawned a watch that belonged to [Kelly’s partner’s] dad just so we could get gear.”
!['We had a $1000 [-a-week] habit ... the drugs became the main focus.' File photo / Mike Scott](https://www.nzherald.co.nz/resizer/v2/ZV7JL4OSFHRY4ZY6VBVO4MWHJY.jpg?auth=5ad373d26b086a2a91bf26466a9aa4d0a5bb6a780bfd671fdea56c1f2fad98be&width=16&height=13&quality=70&smart=true)
By the time Ruth started primary school, Kelly’s life had spiralled completely out of control.
“People [we knew] started dying — suicide, car crashes. Everything was just a mess. We had bad people around us and the kids all the time.
“One day I woke up and I was feeling like s***. I was making Ruth’s bed and I turned her little radio on. It was on this religious station and this song was playing and something in my head just snapped.
“I rang my dad and I told him what was going on. I sat down with [my partner] and I said to him, ‘I need to leave this town. I need to get out of here, and I need to take the kids. Let’s get out of this scene’.
“He didn’t want to, so I left and took the kids. I didn’t have contact with any of those people ever again.”
Kelly and the children — then aged 7 and 3 — moved to another city to be close to her parents, and Kelly started addiction treatment. The kids settled well and, once Kelly was clean, she got a job.
Money was tight, but life was good — until Kelly fell in love with the wrong man.
“I know all the red flags now — the intensity right from the start, the love bombing, the control. But I fell right into it then.”
Three months into her new relationship, Kelly’s partner assaulted her. He begged for her forgiveness, promised to change, and then attacked her again.
Kelly stayed in the relationship on and off for four years. Over that time, both of her children witnessed her partner’s verbal and physical abuse. It took a straight-talking cop to break the cycle.
“It was my birthday, and [my partner] beat me up in the driveway. This cop — his name was Ross — he basically said, ‘What the hell are you doing? If you don’t do something about this, I’ll report you to CYFS [Child, Youth and Family]’. That was the kick in the a** I needed.”
Kelly laid charges and got a restraining order. But by then, Ruth was already gone — back to her father’s house to escape the abuse.
‘I’ll never, ever forgive myself’
This is the bit that Kelly most wishes she could change — because as soon as Ruth moved in with her father at age 13, she was exposed to meth.
“She begged to go to her father’s. He swore he was off drugs, and [my partner] convinced me it was best for everyone for her to go. I’ll never, ever forgive myself for [letting her go]. She came home for the holidays and she’d lost a whole lot of weight. I just knew.”
Ruth was 14. She would soon drop out of school and start committing petty crimes. Sometimes, she would tell her mother she wanted to quit drugs and get back on track. But it never happened. Ruth disappeared for days at a time, stole to feed her habit and got picked up by police.
Then, at 19, she called her mother to tell her she was pregnant.
When Mia was born, Ruth brought her home to her mother’s house for a few weeks. Kelly wanted her to stay; Ruth’s partner — also a drug user with a criminal history — wanted her to move out with him.
Ruth moved, taking her newborn daughter with her. “After a few weeks [the arrangement broke down and] I had to go and pick them up,” Kelly says. “When we got back we met with a CYFS officer and she advised me to apply for urgent day-to-day care for Mia.”
Ruth accepted the arrangement, but Mia’s father put up a fight. The Family Court sided with Kelly, awarding her custody and then guardianship — an important step because it allows Kelly to make critical decisions for her granddaughter such as consenting to medical treatment and choosing schooling.
This is, unfortunately, a common scenario, says GRG support group co-ordinator Anne Donnell, who raised her own three grandchildren.
“I would say in nine out of 10 cases these situations aren’t amicable. It’s such a deep breakdown. I work with members who have no wider whānau contact because they’ve been cut off for taking their grandkids in.”
Because of this, legal advocacy is a key part of GRG’s work — but the organisation doesn’t have enough funding to keep up with demand, says Brad Clark. “We have a backlog [of members waiting for help with legal issues]. We could use more support group co-ordinators in key regions and at least another six [legal and financial] advocates around the country.”
Ruth moved out of her mother’s home again before Mia turned 1 — and stepped straight back into her high-risk lifestyle.
In 2017, Ruth — then 23 — gave birth to her second child, George. She was determined to raise her son and, for a while, George’s birth looked like the catalyst she needed to get her life back on track.
Through another two break-ups, a stint in drug rehabilitation and a move to a different town, Ruth managed to retain custody of George.
“I thought she was doing okay,” Kelly says. “She was living in a unit with a bunch of other single mums. George was properly clothed and fed.”
Then George rang his nana on a sunny day last October as the police arrested his mother for shoplifting.
Kelly says she hasn’t had time to think about her new reality — at 50, she’s raising two grandchildren alone and holding down a fulltime job.
She tries to take each day as it comes rather than worry about a future she can’t control.
Kelly’s financial situation is precarious — she earns an average salary and pays rent on a three-bedroom house by herself. She receives the Unsupported Child’s Benefit from Work and Income NZ for Mia and George — about $300 a week a child. She also receives a clothing allowance, a holiday and birthday allowance, and help paying school-related costs at the start of the year.
“I make it work, but I live pay cheque to pay cheque,” Kelly says. “I don’t drink, I don’t smoke. Absolutely everything is budgeted down to the last cent.
“It’s the extra costs that can be really hard. I’m trying to get George assessed at the moment because he’s struggling at school and I think he may have ADHD. I could try to go through the public system, but everywhere is stretched and we’d be waiting for a long time even if we could get on the right list. I’ll go ahead [privately] and pay for it somehow because it needs to happen.”
Donnell says this is a common issue for grandparent carers, and one she’d like to see addressed at policy level.
“The Government is happy for foster kids to get the [medical and psychological] help they need. Whereas with grandparents, if we need specialists, it’s always had to come out of our pockets.
“Often [our members] have to give up work because these children need us because of the traumas they have — we have to be mum, dad, doctor, social worker and psychologist. We just don’t have the resources, and we can’t help our kids if we don’t know what’s going on.”
GRG chief Clark points out grandparent carers often struggle to access even their basic financial entitlements.
“The complexity of the system and the tendency for [Winz] personnel to deny applications [for benefits and grants] in the first instance means we are constantly asking for decisions to be reviewed — and we’re winning the majority of these cases.”
In terms of family support, Kelly is luckier than most. She has close relationships with her parents and son Max, who live in the same town.
“Mum and Dad are just amazing. They always have my back. They’re a massive emotional support and they help a lot with childcare. But they’re getting older and it’s a lot — they can’t keep doing it forever.
Max, too, is heavily involved in his niece and nephew’s lives. “When Mia first came to me he was still living at home, so he helped to raise her really. He’s brilliant with the kids and he’s brilliant with his sister too. No matter what, he loves her and he backs her up.”
Kelly says she’s also grateful for the support of Grandparents Raising Grandchildren.
“They were brilliant right from the start — just being there and guiding me and supporting me. Mum and Dad went to the support groups too, and they found it really helpful. [GRG will] do things like go to Winz appointments with you, which is massive when you’re under pressure and you don’t know what you’re doing. They also do really thoughtful things like arrange gifts for the kids.
“A lot of the support people who work for them raised their own grandkids, so they know what you’re up against. I can’t say enough about them really.”
‘It’s a bit like a grief process’
Kelly hopes that Ruth will eventually try again to get clean and move closer to her and the children. For now, she’s decided not to apply for legal guardianship of George, and Ruth has agreed it’s best for him to stay with his grandmother.
Ruth visits her children every couple of months, Kelly says — although there’s rarely a plan in place and they’re often fleeting visits that unsettle the kids.
Mia, at 12, is beginning to understand why she lives with her grandmother, but there are some parts of Ruth’s behaviour that Kelly can’t explain.
“Ruth will say she’ll be at a birthday party or something and she won’t show up. Or she’ll arrive and then leave suddenly. Or she’ll show up with crazy presents and overwhelm the kids. I know it’s hard on them.”
Sometimes, Kelly’s frustrations get the better of her and she has it out with Ruth. But she tries to avoid conflict because, she says, it’s pointless.
“The only thing I can do is be there. At least the lines of communication are open — Ruth doesn’t lie to me; I don’t judge her.
“She’s grateful to me for looking after the kids. At the same time she blames me for putting her through a whole lot of bad stuff as a kid, and she’s right. I f***ed up. I feel guilty about that every single day. But she was the one who picked up that pipe, and she’s the only one who can stop.”
Through the turmoil, Kelly says she tries not to lose sight of the real Ruth.
“You know, she’s lovely — she’s smart and funny and creative and beautiful — and she loves those kids. There’s never been a lack of love; that’s not the problem.
“She’s just turned 30, she needs to sort her s*** out. She knows she needs to sort her s*** out.”
After 15 years of chaos, though, Kelly has learned to keep her expectations in check, and she has accepted that she’ll probably raise Mia and George until they’re young adults and ready to leave home.
Alongside the sheer hard work of raising two school-age children by herself, Kelly mourns the experiences she’s missed out on.
“Max left home in his 20s — I already had Mia [by then]. I didn’t have that time on my own. I didn’t have an empty nest. I just went straight from raising my own kids to raising my kid’s kids.
“I see the joy that other grandparents feel when their grandchildren come to stay in the holidays. They get to spoil them rotten and then give them back to their parents. I can’t do that.”
GRG’s Anne Donnell describes it this way: “It’s a bit like a grief process. You get your happy times, your sad times, then you get mad about the fact that you’ve had to give up your own hopes and dreams. It’s an ongoing grief with stages that you have to work through every day.”
But there are upsides, too, to being a grandparent carer, Kelly says. She is incredibly close to Mia — “sometimes I forget she’s not my child, to be honest” — and she’s building her relationship with George after a challenging settling-in period.
“Life is busy and chaotic, but there’s also lots of joy and love,” Kelly says. “I get to do my parenting again — after I’ve learned from the mistakes I made the first time around.”
The other parts of her life — work, relationships (”as if there are any”, Kelly says with a laugh), hobbies — have to take a back seat.
“All I want really is to do right by [Mia and George]. I want to grow decent human beings. I want them to have chances. I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am. My grandkids have got the best of me.”
* Names have been changed
- Find out more about Grandparents Raising Grandchildren here.
Where to get help:
Drug and alcohol issues
- 0800 METH HELP (0800 6384 4357)
- Alcohol Drug Helpline (Phone 0800 787 797 or text 8681); Māori helpline: 0800 787 798; Pasifika helpline: 0800 787 799