A Gift for Mom! 🤍

The fears of parenting set in the moment you hear your child’s first cry. The typical worries cross our minds. We worry about being horrible parents, we worry about not feeding them well enough, we worry that we are just not going to do it right. For some of us, we worry about what our least desirable genes hold for our future, and we worry about passing these genes on to our children. While the exact cause of auto-immune disease is not known, there is growing evidence demonstrating that genetics play a role in an individual’s tendency to develop an autoimmune disease.

My husband and I were each diagnosed with two different auto-immune disorders when we reached our thirties. We have both run the gamut of medications that must be administered unpleasantly, steroid shots, uncomfortable medical procedures, multiple colonoscopies, and most recently, a total joint replacement. Through it all, the disease is never cured. It is always still there. While medications work to treat symptoms, flare ups often occur and the disease remains a nagging thorn in our side. This is the reality of auto-immune disease. For lack of better words, it completely sucks.

My husband was diagnosed with Psoriatic Arthritis, an autoimmune disease, around the time our daughter was six months old. Like many auto-immune disorders, the disease began mild and quickly progressed. For a man who once ran miles a day and played soccer religiously, being diagnosed with Psoriatic Arthritis was heartbreaking. As his symptoms increased, my stress levels did too which awoke my sleeping monster called Ulcerative Colitis.

As we watched our baby grow happily, we voiced our concerns to each other that she may one day inherit our genetic flaws. This after all, is the blessing and curse of all offspring. You are your parent’s genes—the good and the bad.

We also discussed what these disorders meant for our future and we talked about our frustrations in trying to accept why this was happening to us. Was this our new norm? Would our symptoms get worse as we age? Why are our bodies failing us? Why us? When one of us was having a bad day, the other was there to remind them that we were in this together, never alone. We would celebrate good days together, and cry at the end of bad ones. Regardless of the day and the pain of our symptoms, we always knew that home meant comfort.

As our baby grew, my symptoms stabilized, but my husband’s grew severe to the point of excruciating pain. His disease latched onto one hip and completely degenerated its cartilage in a matter of six months causing him to lose the ability to walk with both legs. We were informed that he would need a total hip replacement as soon as possible. The fears of parenting were never as loud as they were during that time.

One month before my husband’s surgery, Hurricane Harvey devastated our city along with much of Texas’s Gulf Coast. We were evacuated from our home on a kayak by brave Houston firefighters and we watched from a hotel room as our city sank under water. We were active participants in our city’s recovery which is still ongoing, and had the privilege of witnessing firsthand the love and strength that poured out from a community that lost everything. The effort was collective and those who were affected by Harvey felt a bit less alone. There was a parallel I began to see between the hurricane that ravaged our city and the disease which was ravaging our household. In the face of hardship, we are stronger together.

When my husband awoke from his surgery, and as he began to recover and rebuild at the same time our city did, we quickly realized our community was lifting our family up too. Friends and family sent us messages of encouragement, messages of love, stories of their own struggles, meals upon amazing meals, beautiful and generous gifts, treats, and surprises for our little girl who was having trouble adapting to so much change. In a time of immense stress and pain, we felt shrouded in warmth and love. During a time in which my husband was scared and I was so exhausted I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it through the day, these people gave us the strength and courage to keep going.

It was then that a shift happened and the fear we carried about our future and passing along our disorders to our child began to gradually lessen. We began to understand that regardless of what the outcome is, together we will continue to endure and overcome as we have thus far, and no disease will define our daughter or our family. In the face of hardship, we will practice being brave, and we will teach her how to prosper despite the obstacles she will face. We will show her it is ok to be afraid, but will also show her how to practice courage. We will teach her that fear is powerful and should be acknowledged, not ignored. We will teach her how to accept discomfort and how to sit with discomfort, and we will show her that she will never have to do it alone. We will always be there to feel the discomfort with her.

Above all else, we will teach her that we are stronger together than we are alone, and together, we will get through it all. She will learn all of this, because she will have witnessed her community, the friends and family that surround her, and the two people who love her the most do this with each other, and she will learn from their example.

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!

Monica Gri

Monica Gri is a proud native Houstonian. She studied psychology as an undergraduate and later pursued a career in law. Despite her many roles, her favorite job is being a wife and mother. Outside of work, she enjoys spending time with her family, being outside, practicing yoga, reading, and writing. Her passion for writing has moved her to begin the early stages of launching her website, Here, You Are Home. Her hope is that her website will provide a safe, comforting, and non-judgmental space for parents who aspire to raise loving children while navigating the daily challenges of everyday life.

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

What No One Tells You about Losing a Sibling

In: Grief

Nobody tells you that when you lose a sibling, your entire childhood flashes before your eyes. There’s no better witness to what you experienced growing up than that one person who was standing nearby for all of it. And when they’re gone, a part of that childhood and a part of that story goes with them, because it was only ever known between the two of you. There’s no last chance to say, “Remember when?” or to laugh about the things that made you laugh to tears together, a million times at the kitchen table. There’s no last conversation about...

Keep Reading

Grief Didn’t Break Me, It Rearranged Me

In: Grief
Sad woman looking off to the side

I survived losing my father after his long, grueling battle with cancer. It was one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I had a front row seat to watch cancer pick him apart piece by piece. When you lose a parent, you lose a part of yourself. They say time heals all wounds, but you never stop missing the good ones, and there are days when it feels like it just happened. By the grace of God, I survived, but I will always miss my father. Then, almost a decade later, I lost the career that helped me...

Keep Reading

I’m Learning To Be Soft and Strong

In: Grief
Woman sitting and crying on floor

During the weeks we cared for my grandmother in hospice, survival mode felt necessary. There were medications to track. Visitors to update. Logistics to manage. I remember sitting on the couch that served as my makeshift bed and listening to the rhythmic hissing and puffing of the oxygen machine one night. While my mom showered off the day, I texted my sister updates and sent my husband a quick message of love. I could still smell the lavender candle we had lit earlier in the day to mask medical scents. The house was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I was...

Keep Reading