21/01/2026
A Story a Grandmother Shared With Me
A grandmother who is one of my meditation students, recently shared a story with me that’s stayed in my heart.
It happened very early in the morning. Her daughter was out of town for work, and her son-in-law—who also meditates—was working from home that day and she was there to help get the kids to school so he could attend his work meetings uninterrupted. The older one was already on the bus but the youngest was telling her he was sick and didn’t want to go to school.
So now, instead of being at his computer, he was in the kitchen with his young son who was now standing in front of them, head bent, saying in a small, sad voice,
“I’m sick. I don’t want to go to school.”
Every parent knows this moment.
The father was torn.
Yes, his son had been up with the runs during the night. But was it the result of significant food allergies, which for years had shown up as rashes, hives, and breathing issues, but were now starting to show up as bowel sensitivities instead? Or was he coming down with something contagious?
To complicate things, the preschool had just sent an email warning parents about RSV and other illnesses going around, urging, “Please don’t send your child if they’re sick.”
And to complicate things even more, the father had no sick leave left. Ongoing lower back issues had used it all up.
So there he was—standing in his kitchen, one hand running through his hair—caught between the stress of missing work, the pressure from school to not send a sick child, and the guilt and confusion of not knowing whether his son was truly sick or just reacting to something he’d eaten the night before.
He did what most parents would do. He checked his son’s temperature. Normal. He checked it again. Still normal.
“I’m sick. I don’t want to go to school,” the little guy repeated, wandering over toward the tent and toys he clearly preferred to stay home and play with.
“If you stay home sick,” the father said gently but firmly, “you’ll need to rest on the couch. No running around and playing.”
The boy wasn’t dissuaded.
The grandmother told me she could see the father’s mind spinning: Is he sick or not? What if he goes to school and has the runs? Will the school be upset? And if he stays home, will work be upset? She could see his shoulders tightening as he tried to reason with a young child without turning it into a power struggle.
Earlier that morning, while sitting quietly on the toilet, the boy had shared something with his grandmother.
“I don’t want to p**p at school.”
“Why?” she asked, though she already understood.
“Because I’m the only one who p**ps at school. No one else p**ps at school.”
The tension and frustration were building so she felt the moment was right to share this confidence. She watched the boy’s face to be sure it was okay as she gently told his dad,
“He said he doesn’t want to p**p at school.”
And with that simple statement, the energy in the room shifted.
The father’s whole body softened. The tension drained out of him as if someone had pulled a plug. He looked at his son with genuine understanding and said,
“Oh buddy, oh buddy… come here.”
The dad sat down, and the boy ran straight into his lap, curling into his chest like he’d found his refuge.
The father wrapped his arms around his son and said reassuring things—about bodies being bodies, about how it’s okay—but honestly, the grandmother said she didn’t think the boy heard much of it. What mattered was being held.
Feeling safe.
Feeling seen.
No judgment.
No scolding.
No fixing.
Just a little boy and his dad.
A few minutes later, the boy was calmer. Lighter. When it was time to leave, he went willingly—clearly knowing his dad was on his team.
When this story was shared with me, what stood out wasn’t just the tenderness of the moment.
It was that the father, who is a meditator, was clearly practicing three skills meditation teaches, even though it wasn’t easy:
- He stayed present in the moment by noticing the conflict happening inside him.
- He remained aware, even as he chose—again and again—not to give in to those old habits of expressing his irritation and frustration and making things worse.
- Instead, he chose—again and again—to respond from a place of gentle kindness.
He used the skills he’s learning in meditation in his real life.
That’s what real meditators do. We don't just ‘do’ meditation. We ‘use’ meditation throughout our day, and that makes all the difference!
