A little orphaned boy cries in church, begging God to send his mother to take him. The next minute, he turns pale when a voice answers from behind, saying, “I’ll take you.”
A string of untold emotions is attached to kids abandoned by their parents. Six-year-old Alan was one such neglected child who yearned to see his mother but never got that chance.
One day, in a serendipitous encounter in church, little Alan’s world shifted. He was crying, begging God to send his mom to him, telling God how different his world would be if his mother were with him.
Amid his loud cries and heartwarming argument with God, a strange voice spoke up from behind, offering to take him…
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Dear Jesus, they say you hear everything. My guardians in the foster home told me to knock on your door and ask for everything I needed. I want my mommy. Can you please send her to me?”
“Alan, my boy! I’ve come for you. I’ve come to take you home.”
Alan cried as he folded his hands in prayer and stared at the crucifix. His eyes were painfully red, and his soft, pink cheeks were wet.
“My nanny told me you answer everyone’s prayers. Then why aren’t answering mine?”
The vestibule echoed with Alan’s loud cries. He was heartbroken. He did not want to return to the shelter, where kids often poked fun at him. They constantly taunted him saying his mom would never return and he had no choice but to wait for someone to adopt him.
“Nobody would be interested in taking a crybaby like you home,” were some of the harshest things he heard from fellow kids in the shelter. Alan cried his heart out that day, demanding God for an answer.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Alan, shhh!” his guardian, Nancy, interrupted. “It’s a church. Be quiet, and don’t cry. People are watching you. Please calm down.”
Alan tried to control his tears. He kept staring at the crucifix until he saw a woman with a child enter the church. He could no longer hold back his tears and started crying again.
“Jesus, you’re not answering me. Please, I want to be with my mommy like that girl. Nanny, why is Jesus not answering? You told me he answered all our prayers, but why hasn’t he told me anything?”
Nancy stared at the boy and grinned at his innocent questions.
“I’ll take you,” a woman’s voice suddenly said from behind them. “My baby, I’ve come for you. Please stop crying.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Alan and Nancy were startled. They turned around, and behind them was the woman with the child Alan had seen moments ago.
“Alan, my boy! I’ve come for you. I’ve come to take you home,” she cried.
“Who are you? How do you know the kid’s name?” questioned Nancy, holding Alan tight.
“My name is Annette. I’m Alan’s mother. I come here daily to see him and ensure he’s fine.”
“Your son? Do you have any proof?”
Annette took out a photo of her holding a newborn baby in her arms. “I left him at the shelter’s doorstep six years ago.”
“This is unbelievable. This was how Alan looked when I first picked him up from the doorstep on that rainy night. I heard the loud cries of a baby outside on the patio and found him there. Why did you leave your baby? How can you be such a heartless mother?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Annette began to cry and disclosed the most saddening story of her life.
Six years ago, she was 16 and accidentally fell pregnant with her boyfriend’s child. After she revealed this to him, he dumped her and moved to another state, blocking her from contact. Annette’s parents advised her to terminate the pregnancy, but she couldn’t do it.
“My parents gave me only one choice—to abandon my baby or to forget them and the legacy I would inherit. I was too naive and young to become a mother, so I left my newborn baby at the shelter and moved on.”
Annette added that she finished college and married another man. The girl with her, Amy, was her daughter from this marriage.
“I tried my best, but I could not forget my son. I visit this church often to watch him from a distance. But after hearing him crying for his mother today, I could not hold back any longer. I want to take him home with me.”
Soon, Annette began the legal formalities to gain Alan’s custody back. She took DNA tests with him, revealing they were mother and son by a 99 percent match. Although she successfully took Alan home and restored their relationship, it came with a hefty price.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Annette’s parents turned against her and cut her off from their lives and their will. Even worse, her husband turned against her despite knowing the truth about her shady past.
“I married you because you were honest about your failed relationship with your ex-boyfriend and thought you would never want that kid again. But now, even your parents have disowned you. Look, I’m not willing to father someone else’s child. I’m ready to support my daughter financially, but our marriage is over,” her husband Jason said, immediately filing for a divorce.
Annette and Jason were divorced shortly after. Annette got custody of her daughter and was delighted to have Alan back.
“Never come to us begging for money again” were the last words she heard her parents tell her, and Annette was fine with that. She felt her life was complete, even without her parents’ approval or their money.
She moved abroad with her two wonderful children, got a good job, and only looks forward to living a happy life.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
What can we learn from this story?
- God answers our prayers. Whenever Alan went to church, he would cry and ask God to send his mother to him. One day, his prayers were answered when he heard a voice offering to take him, and it turned out to be his mother.
- Do not abandon your children and punish them for a mistake you have committed. When Annette fell pregnant at 16, her parents told her to abandon the baby. She obeyed them and moved on, unaware of how it would affect her son as he grew up.
A little girl cries in church, asking God to save her sick grandmother’s life. Suddenly, a voice speaks behind her, offering to help. Click here to read the full story.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
I Was Late to My Grandmom’s Funeral—When I Finally Got to Her Grave, There Was a Small Package with My Name on It
When Teresa’s grandmother passes away, she races across continents, desperate to say goodbye… but she arrives too late. Wracked with guilt, she visits the grave, only to discover a mysterious package left just for her. As Teresa navigates grief and love, she learns that some bonds transcend time, offering solace in the most unexpected ways.
When my uncle called that morning, I knew something was wrong before he said a word. His voice had this sharp, clipped edge, but I could still hear the strain in it.
A man talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
“Grandma’s gone, Teresa,” he said. “She passed last night.”
For a moment, the world went silent. It was as if my mind refused to process the words.
“The funeral’s tomorrow,” he added. “If you’re not here, we’ll have to bury her without you.”
“What? Tomorrow?” My voice cracked. “I can’t… there’s no way I can get there that fast!”
A shocked woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t bother,” he said curtly. “She’s gone, Teresa. We won’t wait for you… we can’t.”
I stood frozen, phone in hand, the sharp beep of the call ending pulling me out of my stupor. My uncle Craig, ever the practical and unyielding one, had spoken as if my grandmother’s passing was just another event on a packed calendar.
But she wasn’t just my grandmother. She was my everything.
A smiling old woman | Source: Midjourney
She’d raised me after my mom passed, back when I was too young to understand what death meant. Grandma became my world. She stepped into the role of mom, confidante, and teacher with ease.
Life with her was a steady rhythm of love and laughter, her warmth filling the void my mother’s death left behind.
The thought of not being there for her, of not saying goodbye, tore at me.
An upset woman looking out of a window | Source: Midjourney
I booked the first flight out, throwing clothes into a suitcase without even checking if they matched. I wasn’t even sure if I had suitable funeral clothing, either. Every second felt like a betrayal.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her being lowered into the ground while I was thousands of miles away, stuck in some airport terminal.
The plane ride was unbearable. I was unable to eat, my food tray just sitting there, the food getting cold and congealing. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t watch any of the movies or listen to music.
A tray of airplane food | Source: Midjourney
I was numb.
Memories of my grandmother flooded my mind. Her stories, her hugs, her quiet wisdom… I kept telling myself I’d make it in time, but when I finally landed and called my uncle, the funeral was already over.
“We couldn’t wait, Teresa. Don’t act shocked. I told you this already,” he said flatly.
A woman standing in an airport | Source: Midjourney
By the time I arrived at her house, it was empty, stripped of the life it once held. My cousins had cleared out, leaving behind traces of their rushed goodbyes. There was a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a crumpled tissue on the sofa, someone’s forgotten lipstick on the floor.
I stood in the doorway, letting the silence engulf me.
Grandma’s favorite chair was still by the window, the blanket she’d always kept on her lap folded neatly over the back. On the side table, an unfinished knitted sock lay abandoned, the lavender yarn still threaded through the needles.
A ball of yarn and knitting needles | Source: Midjourney
I reached out, brushing my fingers against the soft fabric, and the tears came in a flood.
She had been working on this. Just days ago, she’d sat here, humming softly as she knitted, probably thinking about some old family recipes.
I sank into the chair, clutching the sock like it was a lifeline. Memories of her voice, her laughter, her love, rushed over me. The ache in my chest was unbearable, but I didn’t want it to stop.
This pain was all I had left of her.
An upset woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
When the sunlight began streaming through the window, I wiped my face and stood. There was one thing I still had to do.
I stopped at a florist and bought a bouquet of daisies, her favorite. The drive to the cemetery was a blur, my mind racing with all the things I wished I’d said, the moments I wished I could relive.
The grave was easy to find.
A bucket of daisies at a florist | Source: Midjourney
The fresh mound of dirt stood out starkly against the older, weathered headstones. My breath hitched as I approached, the reality of it hitting me all over again.
This was it. Her final resting place.
But something caught my eye. At the base of the grave, nestled in the dirt, was a small package. My name, Teresa, was scrawled on the paper in her unmistakable handwriting.
A package in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I picked it up, my heart pounding.
The package felt almost warm, as if her love had left a mark on it. I tore at the wrapping, revealing a folded note inside.
My dear Teresa, it began.
I know your uncle probably won’t let us see each other one last time. I don’t know where I went wrong with him… but he’s always been jealous of the bond we share. I need you to know this: Teresa, you are my love, my joy, and the light in the darkest of days.
I asked Rina to leave this package on my grave after I’m gone. This is so you’ll never be late again.
A woman reading a note in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
I gasped.
Grandma had planned this? Had she known exactly how things would unfold?
And it made sense to me. Craig probably thought that Grandma was going to leave a whole lot of money to me, her house even. Not that I wanted any of it…
“Oh, Gran,” I muttered.
An old woman writing a letter | Source: Midjourney
Tears blurred my vision as I opened the smaller package inside. A gold wristwatch glinted in the sunlight, its face encircled by tiny diamonds. I turned it over, and there, engraved on the back, were the words:
Grandma and Teresa. Always and Forever.
I dropped to my knees, clutching the watch to my chest. The ache in my heart swelled to unbearable proportions. She had thought of me, even in her final days, leaving behind this symbol of her love for me.
A woman holding a watch in a box | Source: Midjourney
As I sat there, the pieces of her note lingered in my mind.
My uncle. His jealousy.
It all made sense now, the way he’d rushed the funeral, his brusque phone calls, the coldness in his voice. He’d never hidden his resentment, but to think that he’d taken it this far… refusing to wait even a few hours.
Still, as much as his actions stung, I couldn’t let them overshadow what I held in my hands. The watch wasn’t just an heirloom, it was a promise.
A man standing on a porch | Source: Midjourney
It was the promise of a connection to my grandmother that time could never erase.
The cemetery was quiet as I stood by her grave, sharing memories, apologizing for being late, and thanking her for everything she’d given me.
When I finally stood to leave, I slipped the watch onto my wrist. It felt like a piece of her was with me, tangible and eternal.
A woman standing in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
The house was still empty when I returned, but it didn’t feel quite as suffocating anymore. I stood in the living room, looking at the remnants of her life, her unfinished sock, the framed photo of the two of us by the mantel.
Moments later, the door opened.
“Teresa,” he said. “What are you doing here? Why bother to come when everything is over?”
“How can you ask me such a question?” I gasped.
A grandmother’s living room | Source: Midjourney
“She was old, Teresa,” he said. “What did you expect? That the old woman would live forever?”
“When did you get so cruel, Uncle Craig?” I asked.
“When did you get so self-righteous?” he spat.
Before I knew it, two men from a moving company walked into the house.
Two men standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“I’m taking the furniture. And those expensive plates and vases. I’m going to sell them.”
“Gran will never forgive you for this,” I said simply, sitting down on the couch.
“Gran is long gone, Teresa. It’s time to move on. And don’t try to contest the will,” he said. “Gran would have given everything to me. I can’t wait to give Rose her watch. My mother would absolutely want her first-born granddaughter to have it.”
A cupboard with expensive crockery | Source: Midjourney
I pulled my sleeve down, hoping that Craig wouldn’t see the watch. I wasn’t going to hand it over. No way. But at the same time, I didn’t want to entertain Craig. He could take everything else.
A few months had passed since I left my grandmother’s house for the last time. Life had resumed its usual rhythm, or at least, that’s what it looked like from the outside.
The watch stayed on my wrist, its weight a constant reminder of her. Some days, I caught myself holding it, brushing my thumb over the inscription as if I could summon her voice.
A watch on a person’s wrist | Source: Midjourney
One evening, I made myself a cup of tea, Gran’s favorite chamomile blend, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket. The unfinished sock from her house now sat on my coffee table, neatly placed in a small knitting basket.
I picked up the knitting needles, my fingers still clumsy and awkward with the motions. She’d tried to teach me once, years ago, but I’d been too impatient to sit still.
A cup of tea on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
“One day you’ll see,” she’d said with a knowing smile. “That knitting is like life. You just keep going, one stitch at a time.”
One stitch at a time.
A lavender sock and knitting needles | Source: Midjourney
Judy and her family get into the habit of saving money in a “family stash jar,” which is used for emergencies or family outings. But soon, she starts noticing that someone in the family has sticky fingers, helping themselves to the money. Judy has to figure out who it is and what is the reason for such dishonesty.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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