I stood looking out of the window over my daughter’s kitchen sink. Watery, late April morning sunshine gave such pale light that it not only gave little warmth but seemed to leach the color from the backyard pine trees and the mud-rutted driveway. Three cars were parked near the house. One belonged to me, and the other two belonged to friends of my daughter. They were busy cleaning the house and doing her laundry so she could take care of her newborn baby. Three of my grandchildren sat at the kitchen table playing cards. Three others sat in the living room and the two-year-old stood next to her mother watching her nurse the baby.

Only just last week, the spring air felt more friendly. Warm, happy afternoon sunshine flooded into my dining room as my daughter gathered her children in preparation for leaving. At the door she stopped and said, “Is it okay if we drop off the kids on our way to the hospital to have the baby? They want to come with us because they said it was tradition.” I laughingly gave my consent. After all, it was my tradition, too!

The following week, our whole world turned upside down. My daughter’s husband died in a freak accident and their baby was born. Suddenly, people we usually only saw at church, weddings, and at birthday parties brought casseroles, salads, and desserts. They were coming to clean her house, help with the many other chores a mother has in raising a big family, and to keep her company.