Nancy loved her son Henry more than anything in the world. She couldn’t imagine life without him. It had been 23 years since a tragic accident had taken Henry’s life, but Nancy kept a special tradition alive every year to remember him. On the anniversary of his death, she always baked his favorite pie and took it to his grave.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, had never missed a single year. She baked the same pie every time—a simple but delicious apple and cinnamon pie, Henry’s favorite since he was little.
The smell of apples and cinnamon always reminded her of the old days, when Henry would rush into the kitchen with excitement whenever he saw her baking his favorite treat.
It had become their special tradition, one that Nancy kept close to her heart after Henry’s tragic death at 17. The pie was her way of keeping his memory alive. It gave her a small sense of closeness to him, as if she were still doing something special for her boy.
Even though many years had passed, the pain of losing Henry never really went away. But this tradition helped soften the sadness, giving her a little comfort each year.
On this day, like every other year, Nancy carefully carried the pie to Henry’s grave. The dish always felt heavy when she walked toward his resting place. His grave was neat and covered with flowers, a symbol of the love he had left behind.
She knelt by the gravestone, placed the pie gently on top, and spoke quietly. “Henry, I hope you’re at peace. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Do you remember how we used to bake it together?” she said, smiling but with tears in her eyes. “I wish we could do that again.”
After a few moments, Nancy kissed her fingers and touched the gravestone softly before saying goodbye and walking away, knowing she would be back next year.
The next day, Nancy went back to Henry’s grave to clean up the leftover pie. Usually, the pie would either be untouched or spoiled by the weather. It was always a bittersweet reminder of Henry’s absence.
But when she got to the grave, something felt different. To her surprise, the plate was empty. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat, and she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then she noticed something else—a small piece of paper on the plate, folded in half.
Her hands shook as she picked it up and opened it. The handwriting was shaky, as if written by someone who struggled to write. The note simply said, “Thank you.”
Nancy’s heart raced with confusion and anger. “Who would take Henry’s pie?” she whispered to herself. She felt upset—this was a tradition just for her son. No one had the right to touch it.
Nancy felt a mix of emotions—outraged and confused. She couldn’t let someone disrespect her ritual. She decided to find out who had taken the pie.
That night, Nancy baked another pie, just like before, using Henry’s favorite apple and cinnamon recipe. The next morning, she returned to Henry’s grave, determined to catch whoever had taken the pie.
She hid behind a nearby tree and waited, watching the grave as time slowly passed.
Finally, after an hour, she saw a small figure approach. It was a young boy, no older than 9, dressed in ragged clothes and with dirt on his face. He walked slowly toward the pie.
Nancy watched carefully. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of paper, and began writing something with a pencil, his hand trembling.
It took him a while, but eventually, the boy wrote “Thank you” on the paper, just like the note she had found the day before.
Nancy’s anger melted away. This boy wasn’t stealing; he was just hungry. Her son’s favorite pie had brought him comfort.
When the boy went to pick up the pie, Nancy stepped out from her hiding place, startling him. He dropped the pie, and his face turned pale with fear.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” he cried. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened. She knelt beside him and said gently, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not mad. Where are your parents?”
The boy stayed quiet and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked.
“Jimmy,” he whispered, looking down.
Nancy smiled softly and said, “Well, Jimmy, it’s okay. You don’t have to steal. If you’re hungry, you can just ask.”
Jimmy looked up, his eyes filled with hope and doubt. “Really?” he asked.
“Yes, really,” Nancy replied, her heart warmed by the thought. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
She offered him her hand, and slowly, Jimmy took it.
Nancy led him home, and when they got there, she baked a fresh pie for him. As the warm smell filled the kitchen, Jimmy watched in amazement, unable to believe what was happening.
When the pie was ready, Nancy placed it in front of him. “This one’s all for you,” she said.
Jimmy hesitated for a moment before grabbing a slice. His face lit up with happiness as he tasted it. “This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said.
Nancy watched him eat, her heart filled with emotion. As he enjoyed the pie, she thought of Henry, remembering how he used to eagerly wait for his first bite.
In a way, she was sharing her love for Henry with this boy, who needed comfort just as much.
As Jimmy finished the last bite, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace. Perhaps, she thought, this was how things were meant to be. Helping Jimmy had brought her a new purpose, a way to honor Henry’s memory by showing kindness to someone in need.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt her grief had led her to something beautiful—something that gave her life new meaning.
She smiled as Jimmy finished the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth.
As Jimmy wiped his mouth and smiled, Nancy watched him with a quiet sense of peace. The sadness that had clung to her for so long seemed to lift, replaced by a warm feeling she hadn’t known in years. She had given him something small but meaningful, and in return, it had filled the empty space in her heart.
Jimmy looked up at her, his eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Nancy. I… I haven’t eaten like that in a long time.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him. She had been blessed to have the chance to care for Henry, and now, in a way, she was given the chance to care for Jimmy too. She took a deep breath and spoke softly, “You don’t have to thank me, Jimmy. You’re welcome here anytime. If you’re ever hungry, or if you need a place to stay, you come back, okay?”
Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded, his small voice cracking with emotion. “I will. I promise.”
As the evening sun began to set, Nancy sat with him for a while, her heart full. For the first time since Henry passed, she felt a sense of hope and connection. Maybe this was the reason why she had kept the tradition alive for so many years—so she could share this love and warmth with someone who needed it most.
Jimmy stood up, his small frame looking a bit taller and stronger now. “I should go, but thank you. I’ll come back soon.”
Nancy watched as he walked down the path, a small smile on his face. Her kitchen, once filled with loneliness and grief, was now quiet but comforting. She glanced at the pie tin, empty except for a few crumbs, and it hit her: In that moment, the pie had been more than just a tradition. It had been an act of kindness that bridged the gap between loss and love.
As she closed the door, Nancy whispered to herself, “Maybe this is what Henry would have wanted. Maybe he sent Jimmy to me, so I could share his favorite pie, and in doing so, share the love that never faded.”
And with that thought, Nancy felt at peace, knowing that her son’s memory would live on—not just in the pie, but in the kindness she passed on to those who needed it most.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden light across the quiet home, as Nancy smiled softly and sat down, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.
Little Boy Cries & Begs Mom Not to Take Him to Daycare until She Storms into Facility – Story of the Day
A three-year-old throws tantrums and begs his mother not to go to daycare. Worried, she goes in unannounced and what she sees shocks her.
“No, mommy, no!” Johnny threw himself on the floor and started screaming. Marla Evans sighed. Not again! She looked at her watch. If he threw a full tantrum, she would be late yet again.
She gazed at her three-year-old with exasperation. Johnny had been going to daycare for two years and always loved it. For the last week, out of the blue, he’d been making a scene, begging Marla not to take him.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
She’d spoken to her pediatrician, and the doctor had told her that toddlers often went through the ‘terrible threes.’ “Stop it!” Marla heard herself scream, then she saw the look of fear in her son’s eyes. Something wasn’t right.
Marla sat down on the floor next to Johnny and coaxed him into her lap. He sobbed, pressing his little face against hers. Marla decided this was more than a tantrum, but what could be wrong?
“Honey,” Marla said gently. “I’m sorry. Mommy didn’t mean to snap.” She rocked him until he stopped crying and asked gently, “Why don’t you like daycare anymore?”
Raising a child is about setting and respecting boundaries.
Johnny shivered in her arms and whispered, “I don’t like!”
“But why, sweetie?” Marla asked. “Are the other kids mean?” But Johnny wouldn’t answer. Marla sighed. “Baby, mommy needs to go to work, but I tell you what… I’m going to come and get you from daycare early today, OK?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Johnny sat up in her lap. “No lunch?” He looked up at her anxiously. “No lunch, mommy?”
Lunch? The worried mom frowned. What was happening with her son?
Marla dropped Johnny off after promising she’d fetch him before lunch. He walked into the daycare quietly but threw Marla a pleading look that left her heartbroken.
She went to work and asked her boss for the afternoon off to deal with a personal issue. Thankfully, her boss was a mom too and understood!
Marla was determined to get to the bottom of Johnny’s reluctance to go to daycare. She decided to drop in — not before lunchtime as she promised Johnny — but during the meal.
Johnny’s daycare didn’t allow the parents into the children’s playrooms or the dining room, but each door of the facility had a large, clear glass window. Hopefully, Marla would be able to see what — if anything — was going on.
When she arrived, the receptionist told her the children were having lunch. Marla walked to the dining room and peered in. The kids were all sitting at their tables, eating.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
A teacher or an assistant supervised each table. Marla quickly spotted Johnny. There was a woman Marla didn’t recognize sitting next to him.
As Marla watched, the woman picked up Johnny’s spoon, scooped up a portion of mashed potatoes, and pressed it against his lips. “Eat!” she cried. Johnny shook his head violently, his mouth firmly closed, tears running down his cheeks.
“Open your mouth and eat!” the woman said angrily. Johnny was looking deeply distressed. The woman cried, “You are going to sit here until you clear your plate!”
Marla saw a small portion of mince, mash, and vegetables left on Johnny’s plate, and she knew her son. Johnny was not a big eater; she never pushed it when he told her he’d had enough.
Johnny opened his mouth to protest, and the teacher quickly pushed the spoon in. Marla saw her son choke and sputter. She’d had enough! She opened the door and stormed in.
“Get away from my son!” she cried.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
The woman looked up, and her mouth hung open. “Parents aren’t allowed in the dining room!” she cried.
“Then they should be,” Marla said, reining in her anger. “Can’t you see Johnny’s had enough? He’s a healthy boy, but he is not a big eater. As an educator, you should know how traumatic force-feeding a child can be.
“Being forced to clean up the plate is an old-fashioned notion. You should be aware of the statistics and the causes of obesity and eating disorders in children.
“And one of them is making food an issue! My little boy is an active child, and if he feels he’s had enough, you need to respect that and not force him to eat.
“As for shoving food into a child’s mouth in that way, it is reprehensible! You should certainly know better. These children are not puppets for you to manipulate at will!
“They are little people with needs and a will of their own. If you don’t respect their boundaries, you teach them they don’t deserve respect. I don’t think that is a message you want to pass on!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
The teacher flushed a bright red and got to her feet. “I never…” she cried.
“That’s a pity,” Marla said crisply. “Because if this happens again, I will ensure you are out of a job! I’m not sending my son to daycare to be brutalized!”
Marla walked over to Johnny and tenderly wiped his mouth. “Come on, honey,” she said gently. “Mommy promised you a treat this afternoon!”
Marla had a long talk with Johnny, and there was no tantrum the next morning. Over the next few weeks, she popped into the daycare at lunch times just to keep an eye on things.
The teacher never forced Johnny to eat again, and the boy recovered his good humor and enthusiasm.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
What can we learn from this story?
- Children and their boundaries should be respected. Johnny’s teacher was teaching him that adults had the right to impose their will on children against their welfare.
- Raising a child is about setting and respecting boundaries — theirs and ours. A child whose boundaries are not respected is insecure and has low self-esteem.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
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