I’ll never forget the mix of joy and heartache I felt the day my granddaughter was born. Joy because she was here, healthy and beautiful. Heartache because I wasn’t allowed to meet her—not yet.
While Maren’s family buzzed around the hospital room, I sat alone in the lobby, wondering what I’d done to be excluded. When Elias finally came to talk to me, the truth surprised me.
“It’s not you, Mom,” he said gently. “Maren’s overwhelmed. She’s afraid she’s failing already, and she doesn’t want anyone to see her like this.”
I realized then that this wasn’t a rejection—it was a cry for help. So instead of pushing, I gave them time. I cooked meals, left encouraging notes, and let Maren know I was there—without pressure.
When she finally invited me to meet Willow, the moment was sweeter than I could’ve imagined. Maren looked at me with relief in her eyes and said, “Thank you for waiting.”
That’s when I knew: love isn’t always about being first. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to wait.
