If you had told me five years ago…
If someone had told me five years ago that I’d be raising eight-year-old twin boys on my own at sixty-three, I would’ve laughed. Or maybe cried. But here I am — me, Noah, and Jack — getting by on love, instant coffee, and a stubborn kind of faith that just won’t quit.
Their parents — my daughter Lily and her husband Paul — died in a car accident when the boys were only two. I still remember the knock on the door, the look on the officer’s face, the exact moment the world broke open. Since that night, my whole life has been about making sure these boys grow up wrapped in the love their parents didn’t live long enough to give them.
They call me “Grandma-Mom.” It breaks and fills my heart every time I hear it.