The gift bag on my lap grew heavier with each passing minute. Nurses bustled by, families celebrated, but I remained frozen in that vinyl chair outside the maternity ward. My phone showed photos of my beautiful granddaughter that everyone else had seen in person while I waited for permission that never came.
When Elias finally emerged, his explanation shattered me. Maren, my sweet daughter-in-law, was terrified I’d judge her imperfect motherhood. How had I become this intimidating figure in her eyes? The woman who still remembered putting diapers on backwards and crying over burnt formula?
That difficult week became a turning point. Instead of visits, I left care packages. Rather than advice, I offered silent support. When I finally held Willow for the first time, Maren’s nervous eyes searched mine – not for judgment, but for understanding. “You’re doing beautifully,” I whispered, and watched her shoulders relax. Sometimes love isn’t about being first, but about being there exactly when you’re needed most.
