Zibby Mag

By Karri Theis

I’ll never forget the day my very talkative three-year-old looked up at me from her car seat and asked, “Do you have a secret?” This question gave me chills and quite literally halted me in my tracks. I did. I was pregnant with her sister. It was early on, and I wasn’t ready to tell her. I had suffered two miscarriages and wanted to protect her from the pain of loss. She was a curious child, so asking a question like this wasn’t new—it was the way she delivered it.

At that moment, I was immediately transported back in time to 8th grade. I was 14, and had just gotten my first period. I had left school and was lying in bed. When my mom got home, she opened my door, peeked in, and gave me her “look of knowing” like she often did. “You okay?” she asked. I nodded, and she quickly opened my door further and gently placed her hand (and a heating pad) on my blanket-swaddled belly. She knew.

That “look of knowing” was instilled in my daughter, too. It was exact. It was magical. I’m not sure why this was such a shock to me. It’s not as if something like this hadn’t happened many times before. Several weeks into my pregnancy with Haley, when I shared the news with my mom that we were about to have our first child, she said to me, “It’s going to be a girl, Haley Bryce. I’m going to hold that baby.” I had my “girl name” picked out since I was 17, so she knew the name. It’s the second part of what she said. Mom passed away after a battle with cancer just three short weeks later, one day after throwing me a baby shower. She wouldn’t get to hold her, I thought, yet “I’m going to hold that baby” became a phrase that would repeat itself over and over in my mind throughout the pregnancy and after Haley was born.

When I was ready to tell Haley about my “secret,” I sat her down and was prepared to give her a great surprise. What I should’ve done was prepare myself for her response. She looked me square in the eyes with “the look” and said, “I know.” She poked at my side, “You have a baby in your belly.” Now, one might think, she probably overheard me talking about it at some point. Not a chance. I deliberately didn’t discuss it with anyone except my husband (and only inside the confines of our bedroom after she was asleep). I didn’t want her to know too soon. But she did; it was indeed (and divinely) beyond me.

She shouted, “I’m going to have a sister!” I told her that it could be a girl or a boy but that we wouldn’t know until the baby was born. She knew, and she let me know often. Nonetheless, my gut told me it was a boy. Most of our family and friends were sure I was having a boy, too. But Haley knew her sister was coming, and a few months later, Alivia arrived.

It feels as though Grandma Lorna is there, sending us signals, guiding, knowing, and holding us as she promised. There have been so many other signs in the past 14 years, always when we least expect it.

A few hours after the birth, Haley entered the hospital room, stepped onto a little stool near the bassinet, and gazed down at her sister. She stood there for what felt like hours. She then walked to my bedside, placed her hand on my post-surgery belly, and whispered, “You okay?” Tears streamed down my face. Thanks for the check-in, mom. I was more than okay.

Since then, my daughters and I have often traded “the look.” Most of the time, it’s a heartwarming reminder of the love passed down and “the knowing” we share as mother and daughters. It’s a special place that nothing can replicate. It feels as though Grandma Lorna is there, sending us signals, guiding, knowing, and holding us as she promised.

There have been many other ways she shows up—the way Haley looks at me with her knowing glance as if she can read my thoughts just like my mom did. I can’t hide much from her, not from a lack of trying! She enjoys reading, learning, and playing with younger kids, and hopes to become an elementary teacher, like her grandma. Alivia brings levity to our household every day—just like her grandma did. She sleeps with her grandma’s sweatshirt every night and calls it “Grandma Lorna.” I see my mom in my daughters almost daily, which is heartbreaking but amazing at the same time. It’s a privilege.

I hear mom’s voice inside my own when I tell my daughters, “treat others as you’d like to be treated” or “you have to believe to receive” at Christmastime. I feel her when I randomly burst into song while cooking dinner, and the way our extended family truly enjoys spending time together: She created that bond, and we’ve held on to it.

These things sustain through the grief. Mom was supposed to be here holding my babies. She said she would. But what I’ve realized is that she is here. She is present in our lives, our hearts, and our home. She shows herself through the big, eternal love that transcends time, space, and our earthly existence. Her legacy lives on through us. She holds all of us, and we are continually reminded. These sacred moments are powerful, always a delightful surprise, and are there for the taking—you just have to believe.

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Karri Theis is a freelance writer/author who lives in Minnesota with her husband, two daughters, and mini Goldendoodle. In 2020, she decided to put her sales career on hold to navigate distance learning. She also used this time to chronicle her family’s valuable time at home and to fulfill a 20-year dream of publishing a children’s picture book. Little Miss Jean and the Time Machine is now available anywhere books are sold.