how one woman became a guardian for little Lily after a tragedy
I am 65, and over the past year my life has turned into a chain of painful events, sleepless nights, and constant worries. My daughter did not survive a difficult childbirth, though she fought until the very end. After my granddaughter was born, she passed away, leaving me with a new fate to carry.
In just a few hours, I went from being the mother of a grown, strong woman to the sole guardian of an orphaned child. What made it worse was that my daughter’s husband, the baby’s father, could not bear the grief. I saw him only once gently holding his daughter in the hospital, whispering words I couldn’t hear, carefully laying her in the crib. His hands were trembling, and by morning he was gone.
He didn’t take the baby home and didn’t even stay to help arrange the funeral. The only thing he left behind was a note on a chair in my daughter’s room saying he wasn’t ready for this kind of life and that it was now my responsibility.
And so my granddaughter became entirely my responsibility. She became everything to me—my continuation and my new purpose for living. I spoke her name—Lily—out loud for the first time after my daughter’s funeral and burst into tears. My daughter thought the name was simple, sweet, and strong—the very qualities she wanted for her little girl.
At night, as I rock Lily and whisper her name, it feels as if I’m bringing a piece of my daughter’s voice back into this world. Raising little Lily turned out to be harder than I expected. A child brings great expenses—things I had long since forgotten about since my daughter was small.
Every ruble disappears in an instant.
I stretch my pension as far as it will go.
I take odd jobs, watching the neighbors’ children.
I help in the church kitchen, trading work for food.
Even so, many days are a struggle to get by. Sometimes, when the night goes well and Lily sleeps peacefully in her crib, I sit at the kitchen table surrounded by bills, wondering how I’ll pay for the next month.
But when the baby stirs, makes soft sounds, and opens her eyes wide with wonder, my heart reminds me why I keep going. Her mother left before Lily could know her, and her father left her life before she was even a week old. The girl must have at least one steady anchor in this world—and I have chosen to be that anchor.
An important realization: Even in the hardest moments, care and love can give you the strength to move forward.
When my close friend Carol called me from the other end of the country asking me to visit for a week, I hesitated at first. But it is support and loved ones that help us endure trials and keep joy in our lives.
Lily’s story shows how, amid the bitterness of loss, a flower of hope can bloom when love becomes the main resource. Life sometimes gives us the hardest lessons, but it is in these trials that the strongest bonds and deepest feelings are born.
