A Gift for Mom! 🤍

The story goes that the neighbors would leave food out by the mailbox near the county road and then run.

It was the late 1920s, and the polio epidemic had struck a tiny Midwestern town. My pregnant great-grandmother suddenly found herself in quarantine in her own home with her husband and children. She had to send her little boy, my grandfather, to a hospital in Omaha when he had difficulty breathing. She stayed behind to care for her family.

She was a mother, farmwife, and homemaker. She was expecting twins when polio arrived.

She was a pioneer who had amazing courage and strength.

I have had a sick child in the hospital, but I was able to stay with her the entire time. I was there to hold her hand while they searched for a vein to start an IV. I was there to talk with the nurses and doctors in order to make the best medical decisions. I slept next to her bed at night. My heart would break sending my toddler to live in an iron lung. How did my great-grandmother say good-bye to her 2-year-old boy and not know if she would ever see him again?

RELATED: To My Mom: I Get It Now

I have carried twins, but my pregnancy was uneventful. Sure, there were uncomfortable days of having a gigantic belly and swollen feet. There were many doctor appointments to check on the twins’ development. There was time in the NICU to monitor oxygen levels and make sure the boys gained weight. There were long nights of double feedings and diapers, but my boys were always healthy. How did my great-grandmother cope with the knowledge that her babies could be born with complications or perish or she herself could become ill with polio while pregnant? 

I have created self-imposed quarantines for my family when influenza or norovirus or strep throat has swept through our house. But we have Disney movies to entertain us and on-line grocery delivery to sustain us. And even though I tell the very nice delivery people they don’t have to bring the bags inside, they always insist on putting them at least in the entryway to help me.

What did my great-grandmother think of the isolation on the farm and the meals neighbors delivered during those long weeks and months?

At the beginning of every winter, I stock up on Clorox wipes, hand sanitizer, Gatorade, and crackers because it’s not a matter of if but really a matter of when one of my children gets sick, I want to be prepared. I don’t know if people were truly ready in the 1920s for polio. I don’t know if my great-grandmother had a pantry that was stocked with food and cleaning supplies. I don’t know if she had friends to call upon for emotional support. I don’t know if my great-grandfather helped her care for the family. I don’t know if her faith gave her the courage she needed. I don’t know what was printed in the town newspaper about the disease. But I do know polio is something we no longer have to fear. And I do know the people who came through that time in history had amazing inner strength. 

RELATED: I’d Give Anything For One More Day With My Grandparents

Her name was Inez, and she’s rarely smiling in pictures. But I won’t hold that against her. She was a strong mother, wife, and Nebraska pioneer. Her children recovered. The family survived.

And I have no doubt her courage and fortitude gave her entire family strength. It shows through in the one smiling photo I have of her.

My grandfather lived for a year in an iron lung then spent another year in the hospital undergoing surgeries and treatments for his legs. He returned home at age four, breathing and walking on his own. A pony was waiting just for him, to carry him to and from school. My kids sit on that little, old saddle and pretend to ride bucking broncos. He had additional surgeries as he grew older, but he was able to have a full, active life.

The twin babies were born with only minor birth defects. I remember asking my great-aunt why her arm was so small, almost the size of mine. “I was just born like that, sweetheart. It doesn’t bother me much.” This was many years ago at a family party, but I recall how she and all her siblings were so happy to get together that summer weekend. Everyone together. Everyone healthy and strong.

RELATED: Dear Modern, Busy People: Bring Back Family Gatherings

My great-grandparents did very well with their family farm. They passed it along to my grandparents, and they raised their family in the same home. My dad and his brothers now take care of the family farm, and the house that was once in quarantine is still standing. We are here because of one courageous, pioneer woman. The strength of one mother cascading through the generations.

Strong women have come before us. Strong women will come after us. Strong women walk beside us. In sickness and in health, we are mothers.

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!

Alexis Linehan

Alexis is an occupational therapist, the wife of a National Guard helicopter pilot, and the mama to four very energetic small humans. The military life has taken them to different states and through several deployments, but they currently call Nebraska home. Alexis enjoys cantoring at Mass, going on camping adventures with her family, and reading anything (and everything) under the sun. She volunteers for the National Guard Family Readiness and is a contributing writer at The Military Mom Collective. You can follow her on Facebook at This End Up in Life.

The Invisible Pain after IVF Stops

In: Motherhood
Woman holding pregnancy test with head in hands

There is nothing “basic” about stopping IVF and returning to the so-called natural route. There is no guidebook for what comes next. The protocols and procedures that once dictated every step suddenly disappear. The appointments, alarms, and instructions are gone—but the emotions and unknowns remain. There is no protocol for going back to the basics. When we decided to stop IVF and try naturally, I wasn’t prepared for how difficult this next part of our journey would be. During IVF, everything had structure. There were calendars to follow, medications to take at exact times, appointments that filled the weeks. There...

Keep Reading

The Final Out

In: Motherhood
Baseball game as seen through the fence behind home plate

Tonight I watched him step up to the plate for the last time. Play-offs. Single elimination. Down by one. Last inning. Two outs. And the batting lineup just happened to fall to him. Nothing prepares you for that. He took a breath. The weight of an entire lifetime spent in red dirt hinging on this moment. He set his face like flint to that pitcher. The ball left the glove, and he swung. Strike one. He stepped away. Reset. Tapped the base. Then set himself once more. He swung, hit a line drive, and sprinted headlong towards the base, setting...

Keep Reading

These Holy Small Things

In: Faith, Motherhood
Children sewing at machine

My 8-year-old-daughter has recently taken up sewing, to my simultaneous delight and chagrin. My delight because I too love sewing; my chagrin because her enthusiasm often outpaces my own abilities, namely, in the undertaking of tedious projects with no pattern. Take, for example, the cloth doll diaper we designed and stitched up together. Granted, the design was fairly basic to draw up and scale. But the minuscule nature of the work, both for my hands and head, was enough to throw me into existential questioning. It was one of those moments when you wonder how the sum of your life...

Keep Reading

The Pressure to Do Everything “Right” Is Crushing Us

In: Motherhood
Tired and stressed mother sits in hallway with toddler across from her, black and white image

I don’t remember when motherhood started to feel like a test I didn’t study for—but somehow, I’m always convinced I’m failing it. It’s in the quiet moments. Standing in the grocery store aisle, overthinking every label—organic, non-GMO, dye-free, free-range, grass-fed—like I’m one bad decision away from ruining their future…while also trying not to take out a second mortgage just to afford my ever-rising grocery bill. Sitting on the couch, wondering if the show they’re watching or game they’re playing is rotting their brain. Lying in bed at night, replaying the way I handled a meltdown, picking apart every word I...

Keep Reading

Letting You Go Is Still So Hard

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Walkway toward water at sunset

Nothing really prepares you for the day your child leaves the house. Last September, my husband and I moved our 18-year-old son into his dorm room. Right after that, he was swept away into all things orientation, and we began our 1,000-mile journey back home. Leaving this beautiful human I raised and spent all those years with felt foreign. During our final hug goodbye, despite trying to hold in my pain, I broke out in huge, ugly, guttural tears. Our drive home was a long two days. It took every fiber of my being not to turn around. Returning to...

Keep Reading

Behind Every Smiling Graduate Is a Mother Letting Go

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mom and grown son smiling

Every year, millions of American families send their children off to their freshman year of college. Their pictures dot our social media feeds. Images of excited students holding collegiate pennants, maybe wearing a hat or holding up their school’s hand sign with beaming smiles. Their parents post excited words about futures and hopes and dreams. One chapter closing. Another opening. A new beginning. So why am I struggling so much? Why does this feel more like a loss than a gain? Why are my tears always on edge, threatening to spill over each time I think about August and what...

Keep Reading

Life Lessons from My Grown Children

In: Faith, Motherhood
Two women's hands on teacups

“Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” – Rabindranath Tagore Quietly communing with a loved one in the early morning hours is such an intimate and precious time. Visiting with one’s grown child when all is dark and still is one of life’s purest pleasures. I remember the conversation clearly. My daughter’s husband, small children, and father were all asleep as we whispered and chatted. She and I are both fidgeters by nature, unable to be still for long. This inner restlessness must be remedied, and we are compelled by biology to...

Keep Reading

As a Medical Mom, I Measure Growth Differently

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little girl climbing outside

In most homes, the marks on the wall are a simple celebration of time passing. They are pencil lines that track how many inches a child has gained since their last birthday. But in our home, those marks represent a much deeper, more complex story. When your child lives with multiple hormone deficiencies, growth is never just “natural”—it is a carefully managed medical achievement. However, as any medical mom knows, the story doesn’t end at the top of the head. It begins deep inside, with a tiny gland that isn’t sending the right signals. Having multiple hormone deficiencies is often...

Keep Reading

Hannah Harper Is Every Mom with Babies in Her Arms and a Dream In Her Heart

In: Living, Motherhood
Hannah Harper American Idol winner sings with her young son on her lap

By now, you’ve probably seen the posts flooding your feed: A young mom. Three little boys. A guitar strap embroidered with her children’s drawings. And a crown. When Hannah Harper won American Idol this week, moms everywhere erupted. And honestly? Same. There is something collective about watching a stay-at-home mom win on such a large stage. The celebrations have been pouring in. Moms, we can do it. She didn’t abandon her dreams. She went for it. And all of that is true, and all of that is worth celebrating. But I want to add something to the celebration. Not to...

Keep Reading

Watching Your Children Build the Life You Prayed For Is Beautiful

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mother dancing with son at wedding

“I love you, Mom.” “Hmmm?” (A little louder) “I love you.” “I love you too…so very much.” I’d been deep in thought, listening to the lyrics we were slowly dancing to. I knew this moment of ours was supposed to be the time to say all the things, but this boy and I had already said all the things, so the song the deejay played—written by Lori McKenna and sung by Tim McGraw—enchanted our ears: When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you When the work you put in is realized Let yourself feel the pride but Always stay humble...

Keep Reading