Grandma raising Grandson

Some days, raising my grandson brings me to tears but not the sad kind. The kind that come when I see him laugh so hard his little belly shakes, or when he runs to me with arms wide open. Those are the moments that remind me I’m right where I’m supposed to be. He is my joy, my purpose, and my reason for pushing through the hard days.

But there’s another side to my story. While I’m here raising him, his mother my daughter is not with us. She’s serving time, and our conversations happen through the phone. Those calls are never easy, but lately, they’ve given me something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope.

She’s been taking the RISE class in jail, a program helping her work on sobriety and rebuilding her life. When I hear her talk about beginning to love herself again even slowly my heart feels both heavy and light at the same time. Heavy because of all the pain that led us here, but light because maybe, just maybe, she’s finding her way back.

It brings tears of joy to my eyes knowing that while I’m giving my grandson stability and love on the outside, his mama is also taking steps to heal on the inside. My biggest prayer is that one day, he’ll see for himself the strength it took for both of us in different ways to love him enough to keep going.

Life doesn’t always look like we imagined. Sometimes it’s messy, painful, and complicated. But in those moments when I hear my grandson’s laughter or my daughter’s voice filled with a little more hope, I know love is still winning. And that’s enough to carry me through.