A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I honestly don’t know where we be in our journey without the gift of our first grandchild. My husband and I have been married for 30 years and we had two children.

Our daughter came first, and she made us parents. Three years later, we met her brother. In some ways, they were polar opposites and in others, they were so similar it was scary. No one could make her laugh as he could—and there was no one he respected or adored more than his sister. She was blonde; he had black hair. She had big bright blue eyes; he had twinkling hazel. They were both blessed with big smiles and their daddy’s looks.

In November of 2017, at 24, we lost him to a drug overdose. It shattered our lives.

While he was walking through chronic pain from an injury, transitioning from the Army to civilian life and fighting an opioid addiction, our daughter was finally expecting her first child after a three-year battle with infertility.

She gave birth a month-and-a-half after her brother died. I don’t know if I can explain how the horror of his loss and the complete joy of our granddaughter’s birth collided and brought with it an avalanche of feelings.

What I can tell you is that every single person was right when they told me being a grandparent is the best thing ever. For us, it was a miraculous gift straight from Heaven—with His impeccable timing. It didn’t take away our pain or replace our son, but it sure gave us somewhere to pour all that love. It kept us busy and she filled our broken hearts with her baby smiles and drool-filled kisses.

It wasn’t easy—certainly not for our daughter. We went from a funeral on Friday to a baby shower on Saturday.

She was deep in grief, experiencing signs of preeclampsia, and finally delivered by emergency C-section on Christmas Day. She had a great team of understanding people surrounding her, but I will say when they offered her fentanyl to help ease her pain—the very drug that killed her brother—it was hard to “politely” decline.

In the months that followed, her grief was intertwined with postpartum depression to the point that her doctor didn’t know what was normal and what was not.

We also had a year-long court case involving the dealer who sold our son the drugs that took his life. She insisted on being the one to attend the trial since we, as witnesses, could not. Fortunately, it ended in a plea deal and the trial was off the docket, but she did sit on the witness stand the day of sentencing and spoke eloquently on behalf of her brother, sharing who he was, how she missed him, what she had lost—and yet, offering forgiveness to the young man convicted.

How do you navigate all of that? No sleep, a first-time parent, the loss of your brother and best friend, a court case, and a set of parents who are forever changed. She was, suddenly, an only child trying to support us and still keep herself from falling.

I honestly don’t know how she did it. Although, I will say that her husband is a great support to her. He is the calm to the storm and such a great dad.

But this granddaughter. Oh, how she fills my heart! She is all joy in her tiny frame. Funny and generous with her kisses. It really is exactly what everyone said. It’s less responsibility and loads more fun. I have all the time in the world to just sit and enjoy her. To play with her and snuggle her as long as she’ll let me

And sometimes, I see her uncle in her smile, her eyes, her laugh . . . and I know how much he would adore her. Just like he did her mom.

And now she has her own brother—another beautiful gift—and we are just as smitten with him.

You may also like:

To the Moms and Dads Who Suffer Loss: You Are Not Alone

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Kristin Schlegel

Kristin and her husband have been married for 30 years. She found writing to be very therapeutic after losing their son, John, to the opioid epidemic at the age of 24. She hopes her writing will help other bereaved parents know that they are not alone.

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

In: Grief
Grown daughter and elderly father

In his last years, Dad spent his days in a chair by the big picture window. From there, he could survey all the comings and goings of the ranch. He watched the weather, the dogs, and our Arabian stallion, Axum, galloping through the pines and calling to the mares across the hill. Occasionally, Dad would alert us that a certain dog had escaped or that a storm was coming in. He was looking out. He was keeping track. He needed help to move even a few steps. At night, my husband or I cleaned him, dressed him, and tucked him into...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

In: Grief
Young woman holding red umbrella walking next to canola field

Outside, the sky hung in a thick, dim slab, like a ceiling over the trees that stood crooked in the wind. Not the fresh spring breeze we’re used to in Florida, but the damp, cold kind that makes you pull your coat together with tight fists. I got there right on time, parked in a front spot in the almost-bare lot, and slid my violet boots with fluffy pom-poms onto the asphalt. I braced for the impact of the frigid air and tucked my body inward as I did a little hop-jog into the pub. Once inside, I let out...

Keep Reading

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

In: Grief, Loss
Woman looking at water

I lay in bed this morning, sweet boy. It is Saturday. Seven of them since you left. Half awake, I turned over and saw Grief staring right at me. She pounced then stood, haughty, on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. She yelled that she would be close today. If she feels like it, she might even be relentless. She is cruel. You were the reason, sweet boy, for me to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Actually, every morning you were my purpose from the moment I opened my eyes until the moment they shut. I knew on...

Keep Reading

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief
Woman holding fish

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief
Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage
Woman walking down path

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living
Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief
Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother.  People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way.  I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Woman and young daughter smiling

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief
Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading