Love, Life, & Lessons: My Next CHAPTER

Family.

It is such a small word for something that can hold so much.

Love, laughter, arguments, history, loyalty, disappointment, forgiveness, memories — sometimes all in the same family and all around the same dinner table.

As I’ve got older, I think I’ve started looking at family differently.

When you are younger, you are busy building your life. You’re working, raising children, paying bills, worrying about schools and trying to keep everything together. Half the time, you are simply getting through the week.

Then the children grow up.

And if you are lucky, another generation comes along.

For me, becoming a Nana has been one of those experiences that has quietly changed something inside me.

There is something very special about watching your own child become a parent. And then there is this little person who arrives and somehow becomes part of your heart almost immediately.

You find yourself doing things you thought you had finished with years ago.

Nursery rhymes. Cartoons. Snacks everywhere. Tiny clothes. Toys under your feet. Negotiating with a toddler who has absolutely no interest in your timetable.

And I love it.

But becoming a grandparent has also made me think much more deeply about what family actually means.

Because family isn’t only about enjoying the good days together.

Family is also about who turns up when life doesn’t go according to plan.

And that brings me to a conversation we had recently over lunch.

It wasn’t planned.

Nobody sat down and announced, “Right, today we’re going to discuss something uncomfortable.”

It just came up.

And the question was:

If something happened to the parents, who would look after the child?

That question stayed in my head.

Have We Actually Talked About It?

Most families talk about almost everything else.

We talk about childcare.

Schools.

Birthdays.

Holidays.

Christmas.

Money.

Who is picking the baby up.

Who has him on Saturday.

Who forgot to bring the nappies.

We can have a twenty-minute family discussion about where we’re going for lunch.

But ask:

“If you weren’t here tomorrow, who would raise your child?”

Suddenly, that is a very different conversation.

And I understand why.

Nobody wants to imagine not being here for their children.

When your child is small, particularly, you don’t want your mind anywhere near that possibility.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realised something.

Talking about it doesn’t make it happen.

It simply means that if life ever does something none of us expected, the people left behind aren’t trying to work everything out while they are grieving.

Who Would You Actually Choose?

At first, the answer can seem obvious.

“My sister would have them.”

“My mum would take them.”

“The grandparents would look after them.”

“My brother would never let anything happen to them.”

But would they?

Not because they don’t love your child.

Of course they do.

But loving a child and raising a child are two completely different things.

Have you actually asked the person?

Do they know that you have quietly appointed them in your head?

And could they realistically do it?

That is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.

Because the person you love most isn’t automatically the best person to raise your child.

Maybe your sister has children of her own and is already stretched.

Maybe your brother lives in another country.

Maybe the grandparents would take the child tomorrow without hesitation — but are they physically able to start parenting all over again?

Maybe one person has the money but not the time.

Another has all the love in the world but no stability.

And another person might be absolutely wonderful with your child for an afternoon but completely unsuitable for the next fifteen years.

We don’t like saying things like that about family.

But sometimes loving our children means being able to say the uncomfortable things.

And Then There Are Two Families

This is another part people don’t always think about.

A child doesn’t usually belong to just one side of a family.

There is Mum’s family.

There is Dad’s family.

Grandparents on both sides.

Aunts.

Uncles.

Cousins.

People who all love that child and may all genuinely believe they know what is best.

Imagine something terrible has happened.

Everyone is grieving.

Then one grandmother says, “Of course the child is coming to me.”

And another relative says, “No. We discussed this years ago.”

Except nothing was written down.

Nobody really knew.

Suddenly a child who has already lost enough is in the middle of a family disagreement.

That thought bothers me.

Not because families are bad.

Actually, sometimes these arguments happen precisely because everybody loves the child so much.

But love mixed with grief can become complicated very quickly.

Surely it is kinder to have the difficult conversation while everybody is sitting around a table, healthy and well, than to leave it for people to fight about on the worst day of their lives.

What Would Your Child Need?

Then I started thinking beyond simply who gets the child?

Because that’s not really the question.

The question is:

Who could help that child still feel safe?

Imagine being a little person and suddenly everything familiar disappears.

Would you stay in the same home?

Would you have to change school?

Would you still see your grandparents?

Would you still see both sides of your family?

Would you stay close to your cousins?

Would somebody know your bedtime routine?

Would they know what frightens you?

Would they know the silly little thing that makes you laugh when you’re upset?

Would they know which food you absolutely refuse to eat no matter how many times Nana says, “Just try it”?

These things sound insignificant until you imagine a frightened child looking for something familiar.

Then they don’t seem insignificant at all.

What About Grandparents?

This one made me think.

As grandparents, many of us would probably say immediately:

“Give me my grandchild. I’ll look after them.”

I understand that instinct completely.

But we also have to be truthful with ourselves.

How old would we be?

How old would the child be?

Could we genuinely start again?

School runs. Homework. Teenage moods. College. Money. Driving them everywhere. Staying awake when they haven’t come home.

Parenting isn’t just cuddles and lovely photographs.

We’ve done this before. We know!

Sometimes being a wonderful grandparent might mean remaining a huge part of the child’s life while somebody younger takes on the day-to-day parenting.

And that doesn’t mean loving them any less.

It means thinking about what is best for them rather than what we would want for ourselves.

Then Comes the Subject Nobody Likes: Money

Love is essential.

Unfortunately, Tesco doesn’t accept it at the checkout.

Children need somewhere to live. They need clothes, food, school things, activities, transport and eventually all those expensive things teenagers suddenly seem to require.

If someone had to take responsibility for your child tomorrow, would there be money available to help them?

Do you have life insurance?

A will?

Savings?

Property?

Does anybody know where the documents are?

Does the person you trust even know what arrangements you’ve made?

These aren’t romantic questions.

But they are loving ones.

Because saying “My sister will look after my children” is very different from making sure your sister isn’t suddenly expected to raise three extra children with no financial help whatsoever.

There Are Things Only You Know

This part really got to me.

Every parent carries a little library of information about their child.

Things nobody has written down because nobody thinks they need to.

How they like to be comforted.

Their funny words.

Their fears.

Their favourite story.

The song that settles them.

The food they will eat when they refuse everything else.

The people they feel safe with.

And then there are the bigger things.

What you want them to know about where they came from.

What you believe.

What matters to your family.

What you hope they become — not in terms of career or money, but as a human being.

Perhaps we should write some of these things down.

Not because we’re planning to disappear.

Because life is unpredictable.

Maybe we should even write letters.

Happy letters.

Letters full of life.

“This is what you were like when you were two.”

“You used to make me laugh when…”

“This is what I want you always to know about yourself.”

“This is how much you were loved.”

Imagine receiving something like that years later.

I’d treasure it.

Maybe This Conversation Is Actually About Living

The more I thought about our lunchtime conversation, the less I felt it was really about death.

It is about family.

It is about responsibility.

It is about making sure the people we love aren’t left guessing.

And perhaps it’s also a reminder to appreciate what we have while we’re here.

Take the photographs.

Go on the family holiday if you can.

Have lunch together.

Tell the stories.

Let the grandparents spoil them occasionally — within reason!

Make memories.

Say “I love you.”

But somewhere amongst all that living, have the serious conversation too.

Ask your children’s parents what they would want.

Ask the person you’ve chosen whether they would actually be willing.

Talk about both sides of the family.

Put things in writing properly.

Sort out the practical things.

And then put the subject away and carry on living.

Because none of us knows how much time we have.

Hopefully, we have years and years.

Hopefully, the plans we make will sit in a drawer gathering dust and never be needed.

That would be the best outcome of all.

But if the worst ever happened, wouldn’t you want your child surrounded by people who weren’t asking:

“What do we do now?”

Wouldn’t you rather they already knew?

So perhaps this is a conversation worth having around your own family table.

Not because you’re expecting to leave.

But because you’re planning to love them properly — even through the things nobody wants to imagine.

What about your family?

If something happened to you, do the people closest to you genuinely know what you would want for your children?

Not what they think you would want.

Not what everyone has assumed.

Have you actually said the words?