Then tragedy struck. Darren passed away in an accident. The children were devastated. For months, I stepped in to help care for them and baby Ava. I became a source of stability, support, and comfort. Through grief, our family unit deepened, strengthened by shared loss and devotion.
One evening, Ellie gave me a crayon drawing of our home, showing all the children, Clara, and me. Above my figure, in simple letters, she wrote: “Nana.” No qualifiers, no distance—just love. It was the moment I truly understood that family isn’t only about blood. It’s about who shows up, who listens, who stays through everything.
This isn’t the family I expected, nor the one I had planned. But it’s richer, deeper, and more beautiful than any dream I could have imagined. I once drew clear lines between “mine” and “theirs,” but now, looking at Mason, Ellie, Jamal, and Ava, I can no longer see that line. They are all mine, and I am theirs.
The greatest lesson I’ve learned is that love doesn’t come with conditions. Life places us in unexpected roles, and if we resist, we miss the blessings waiting for us. But when we lean in, open our hearts, and embrace the unknown, we discover a love deeper than we ever imagined. I am profoundly grateful that I didn’t shy away—and that I now define my family by love.
