Yesterday, a friend sent me an article written by an Ottawa woman about her daughter's cancer and her neighbour's role in serving as an adopted grandmother to her child.

In the article, Julie Jewitt says that her neighbour Debbie and her daughter Lily have developed a distinct bond. Nana Debbie, as she has become to Lily, is like an adopted grandmother, says Julie. "Adoption is an accepted part of parenthood, so why can't it be the same for grandparents?" Julie asks.

When Lily was diagnosed with and treated for a brain tumour, Debbie went to visit her and her family in the hospital. Julie writes:

Debbie told me she clearly remembers looking at Lily through the bars of her steel crib and thinking to herself, "How can I help?" Nobody could have predicted that Debbie would end up becoming Lily's favourite person in the entire world.

Debbie was approaching retirement and didn't have any grandchildren yet. At the time, my husband's parents wanted to help but they had their health concerns and both of my parents were living in long-term care in Calgary. I was naive about it then, and I thought I could take care of everything myself. But I needed help, and that help came to me organically as our relationship with Debbie developed from neighbour to nana.

Nana Debbie has been by Lily's side at children's hospitals in Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal as we search for an effective treatment for her relentless disease. It's been traumatizing when I've had to hold down my screaming child countless times for blood work. Part of me wishes to be Lily's sanctuary, but I'm often not, and that's OK because she found it in somebody else. Nana is Lily's safe place and we have chosen for Debbie to have minimal involvement in Lily's hands-on medical procedures to maintain this trust. When Lily is feeling unwell and we don't know what to do, we call nana. Debbie lives across the street and often will show up in five minutes, which immediately perks Lily up. It is pure nana magic.

Julie goes on to describe the huge difference Debbie has made in not only Lily's life but her and her husband's lives as well. Julie concludes her article with this:

Amid the greatest possible tragedy, we found something indescribably beautiful. It is never lost on me that Debbie entered our world by choice.

I love this story, which illustrates that friends, acquaintances and neighbours can play special roles in others' lives usually reserved for relatives. Not only did Debbie and Lily open their hearts to each other, but Julie and her husband, Jeff, opened their hearts and minds as well—both to Debbie and to the potential of the relationship between their neighbour and their child. Without the parents' willingness to welcome help from their neighbour and to accept that she was their daughter's favourite person in the world, the "adoption" would never have occurred.

I, too, experienced an "adoption" of sorts. I often say that a friend and her family (especially her two kids) adopted me when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2020. They made things for me, stealthily dropped them off (it was during the pandemic, after all), and sent me cards with individual messages. It was like my friend adopted me as her sister and her children adopted me as their aunt. Through months—and, now, years—of ups and downs, they have been there to cheer me on and cheer me up. As I type these words, I am wearing a friendship bracelet that my "sister" made for me, reminding me to go grab life.

Another woman who has played a similar role sent me gifts, made meals for me and checked in. This adopted sister continues to worry about me and to follow up even though she lives, most of the time, in a different city. And she has sought my help as she has faced her own challenges. As I type these words, I am snuggled in bed, wearing one of two sets of luxurious pyjamas she bought for me.

A third woman has been like an adopted mom, sending me little gifts, receiving me and my family in her home, and replying with cheerful messages to my posts. As I type these words, I have one of two peanut-shaped pillows she made for me tucked behind my neck.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I recognize many people who have adopted me in the last 3½ years—people who entered (or re-entered) my world by choice and decided to stay.