My mom passed away 11 days before my son was born. The loss was unbearable—she had been my rock, and I had dreamed of her holding my children, guiding me through motherhood. At the time, my daughter was only three. I thought she was too young to truly understand what had happened. Years later, when my daughter was twenty, I was talking with a friend about those difficult days.

I explained how heartbreaking it was that my mom died so shortly before my son’s birth, and how she never got the chance to meet him. But then my daughter turned to me and said softly, “No, she didn’t.” Confused, I asked what she meant. She looked at me with calm certainty and continued, “Grandma did meet him. She came to see him in the crib when he was a baby. I remember. She stood there smiling at him, and then she looked at me and told me to help you take care of him.”

My blood ran cold. My daughter was only three when my mom died—how could she possibly remember something like that? She described details of my mother’s clothes, her perfume, even the way she tucked her hair behind her ear—things I had never shared with her.

At that moment, I realized something powerful: love does not end with death. My mom found a way to be there, even if just for a fleeting moment, to bless the grandson she never met in life and to remind us that her love would never leave us.