• My grandmother had 10 children, but they were always well-fed and had a happy home.
• She loved to go thrift shopping and never wasted any food.
• She taught me how to make a great life for my son as a single mom.

I often think of one sentence from my late grandmother's obituary: "She kept her 10 children fed and clothed."

Yes, she had 10 children, but what's mesmerizing about this statement is that she always made sure her children had what they needed. As a former single mom of just one boy, I know firsthand that keeping your children fed, clothed, and taken care of is no small feat.

Once I had my own son, I was blessed to spend a lot of time with my grandmother, as we both lived in the same area for the first time. I saw her several times a week, often for lunch or dinner visits. On Sundays and holidays, she typically had our family over for dinner.

I observed all of the ways in which she made these daily meals, visits, and holidays special without having a lot of money.

She showed me that buying secondhand could help stretch a small budget

My grandmother loved frequenting thrift stores and yard sales so that most of her clothes and furniture were found items. In retirement, she volunteered at the local thrift store and always bought things for her children and grandchildren, frequently asking us if there was anything we needed.

The toys she found for my son often became his favorite, while the gently used clothing she picked up for him helped me always keep my son in well-fitting clothes. When I moved into my own home, we scoured yard sales together and found my dining room table and even a lawn mower for my new yard.

I had a handful of Christmases as a mom that were tough money-wise. I found myself using my experience thrifting with my grandmother to find unique gifts, such as a vintage Coca-Cola snow globe and a collector's Batman and Joker set. My son didn't know they weren't brand new. To him, they were just treasures that he still has.

She fed us all well with so little in her kitchen

When it came to putting a meal together, I still marvel at the way my grandmother could create something cozy and plentiful with very little on hand. Dinners were adorned with plates of pickles and olives, saltines and butter, and linen napkins.

These small things helped meals feel more like an event and also gave the impression of an abundance of food.

She earned a reputation for never letting anything go to waste, a habit she developed growing up on a farm during the Great Depression. Leftovers were reworked into meals the next day, and there was never anything too small to save, whether half of an apple or just one clove of garlic.

I saw that it didn't take much money to make a house feel like a home. Even the ordinary day felt special if you were visiting with her. Sure, her decorations were small acts of love, but she was also attentive. She really made the point to see how you were doing and was hospitable, always offering a cookie or another cup of coffee.

I found myself resorting to her secrets when money got tight

As a single mom on a small budget, I caught myself using the same tricks I had picked up from my grandmother. My son's birthday parties, for instance, were often decorated with found items around the home — tablecloths, flowers, and decorative dishware.

For holidays, I focused on the traditions we could build that cost next to nothing but emphasized togetherness, such as making festive cutout cookies or taking Christmas light drives around the neighborhood.

I ensured holidays were never about the quantity of gifts, but the thought put into them. My grandmother always got me one present for my birthday or Christmas, but it would be something special, often useful, and timeless.

Because of her, I knew how to provide my son

I struggled with wanting to provide for my son without having a lot of money. I never wanted him to feel like he was lacking in anything.

In many ways, my grandmother showed me how to create an illusion of plenty. It didn't matter that I relied on used goods or had to find ways to spread the groceries out because my son never noticed. He was always fed and clothed well.

Most of all, he felt safe. His home was warm, welcoming, and decorated to cheer up our day-to-day lives. I was always there for him, offering to be a Lego buddy or seeing if he needed a snack. My grandmother's ways showed me that I didn't need a lot of money to take care of my son. I just needed to be there for him, with the right attitude and creative ingenuity.

• My 2-year-old grandson, King, died in an accident as I was achieving major career milestones.
• The loss forced me to confront how I had been using external achievements.
• Through my grief, I learned what true success in life really means.

The call came while I was in the middle of producing a groundbreaking documentary sanctioned by the Napoleon Hill Foundation. I had also just been featured in Forbes. Everything in my career was accelerating exactly as I had planned.

Then came the news that shattered everything.

King, my 2-year-old grandson, had drowned in a tragic accident. The little boy who would stop whatever he was doing to run into my arms, whose face lit up every time he saw me, was gone.

I felt like an anvil had fallen on my chest. Every step I took felt heavy, and the more it sank in, the more I wanted to leap out of my body from the pain. My chest was heavy and I couldn't breathe. It was instant trauma and a shock to my nervous system that left me gasping for air.

But that grief taught me something valuable.

My grandson meant the world to me

My first thought was denial. He's so young. I was just with him. How could this have happened?

Just one month earlier, I had sent King and my daughter back to California. When their flight was delayed, King held onto my neck like he didn't want to let go before boarding. I never expected that would be the last time I would hold him.

King wasn't just any child to me. Our relationship was magical. When I would play meditation music by the group Beautiful Chorus, he would hear just the first tone and stop whatever he was doing to come sit on my lap and sing with me. He was even on key. When he stayed at my house, we would sing together, play the African drum, and he would dance while I cooked. We would laugh until our bellies hurt.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, producing a documentary about mothers who had overcome adversity to find success, and I was suddenly facing one of my greatest adversities.

I forced myself to sit with the pain of loss

I didn't use work as anesthesia. Instead, I allowed myself to feel everything without grabbing any vices as coping mechanisms. It was painful. My nervous system wouldn't allow me to rest, and when I did sleep, I woke up thinking about King.

The grief forced me to confront a fundamental truth: I had been building my identity on things completely outside my control. I realized that only the ego would allow me to believe that tomorrow is promised to me or anyone I love.

I couldn't run from the pain. I had to use the tools I had been building through plant medicine, meditation, breathwork, and stillness to sit with it and find peace with knowing there was nothing I could have done to prevent this.

My grief helped me better understand success

Before King's death, my definition of success was entirely external. Success looked like closing deals, taking meetings, and speaking at events. It was anything that fed my ego. I was chasing vanity metrics, using achievements to mask deeper insecurities I hadn't yet faced.

But when I lost King, none of that mattered — the Forbes feature, the Napoleon Hill Foundation project, and the speaking engagements. All of it felt meaningless in the face of this devastating loss.

I started understanding that true success wasn't about external validation. It was about healing trauma, facing my shadows, and addressing my addictions.

I know for a fact that if I hadn't been doing deep inner work before this happened, I would have been completely broken. The preventive inner work I had done gave me the tools I needed to process this unimaginable loss.

I now realize that inner work before something happens is the only way to have the tools needed to process the curveballs life throws at you with full impact.

King's death revealed the most resilient part of me. The part that won't quit, even in the face of unbearable loss. He taught me that true success isn't measured in Forbes features or foundation partnerships. It's measured in our capacity to love deeply, heal authentically, and find meaning even in our darkest moments.

Every time I hear that first tone from Beautiful Chorus, I remember my grandson's voice singing with mine, perfectly on key, and I'm reminded that the most important successes in life can't be quantified on any business metric.

• My 88-year-old grandmother has a bustling social life and has always lived in the present.
• She doesn't spend too much time worrying about the future and stays open to trying new things.
• She's inspired me to enjoy my life instead of worrying so much about where to live and what to do.

Every Wednesday night after graduating from college, I sat in my grandma's living room and spiraled about my future.

How could I decide on the one thing I wanted to do for the rest of my life? One city to live in? One partner to marry?

She nodded and listened while filling our plates with kugel and mandel bread. "Emma," she'd say after my lament. "I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up."

My 88-year-old grandma has always lived in the present

My grandma Reva leads the most fulfilled life of anyone I know — not just the 80-plus-year-olds.

Now 88, she told me her secret is to "just live in the moment." And, throughout her life, she's stayed open to giving things a try if they sound interesting.

At 18, she took a leap of faith by marrying an Army man she met through a letter because, she said, she had "nothing to lose." That leap led to a 65-year marriage. The two kissed goodnight, held hands, and slow danced until the very end.

With her "I'll try it out" mindset, she bounced around jobs, only staying where she could find the fun.

As a retail employee, she quit on day one after meeting a rude coworker. As a legal secretary, her "boss was a putz," so she moved on to work for my grandpa's accounting firm. That job was hard work, but she loved the vacations after every tax season.

When that closed, she went to work for my dad. There, she made a best friend and stayed a while. "We used to laugh at all the clients, but I whipped that place into shape," she told me.

When my grandpa passed five years ago, she moved out of their family home and into a one-bedroom apartment. For the first time in her life, in her 70s, she was living alone.

Aside from the new digs, we figured her life would remain relatively unchanged. With her weekly mahjong and canasta games with friends, Friday night family dinners, and frequent calls with her 13 grandchildren, Grandma's life seemed content as is.

Instead, she chose to lean into this new chapter in her 80s and fill her life with even more joy and community. She and her apartment neighbors (turned friends) now spend their winters gossiping in the party room and summers book-clubbing at the pool.

Last week, she was too busy tasting each of her neighbor's "signature drinks" to take my call. "I never went to college, now I get the sorority-house experience," she told me. "It's made my life more beautiful."

Once again, my grandmother's life led me to reflect on my own. My grandma lives such a rich, social life — people even recognize her by just her laugh. If someone so happy has spent her life finding joy in the present, why was I so worried about the future?

She's inspired me to lean into present feelings while making peace with future uncertainties

So, I took her advice. I decided I no longer needed to know what I wanted to do when I grew up — just what I wanted to do tomorrow.

Swallowing my fears, I quit my job in Chicago and moved to New York City. Living in Manhattan, my decision paralysis dissipated.

I made new friends and kept the old. I signed up for the intimidating extracurriculars, and my comedy classes quickly became the highlight of my week. I dated without the pressure of finding one "forever person," and forged connections I'd otherwise convince myself out of.

By this playbook, I realized that tomorrow, I wanted to be a writer. So, I gave up my spot in my graduate program and applied for journalism school instead.

Just a few weeks ago, my grandma was "too busy clapping to take photos," as I walked across the graduation stage to collect my degree.

These days, neither one of us knows what we want to be when we grow up — but I'm no longer worried about it. All I know is we're happy today, and I'm excited to figure out what I'd like to do tomorrow.

• My grandmother always dreamed of going to Italy, but losing my grandfather put her plans on hold.
• My husband and I surprised her with a trip to Sicily for her 75th birthday.
• We found Sicily to be an accessible trip for an older relative, and can't wait to go back to Italy.

When she's not busy caring for everyone else, my grandmother loves to travel.

She's the one who really instilled a sense of wanderlust in our whole family. She's often embarking on a solo trip, or at least researching her next excursion across Europe.

For the longest time, her biggest dream was to visit Italy, and she spent years planning and saving up for a trip.

When my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, her travel plans were put on hold and she devoted herself entirely to his care. The last few years were extremely taxing on her physically and emotionally, leaving my grandmother burned out and in a state of grief after my grandfather died in the spring of last year.

For her 75th birthday, my husband and I decided to surprise her with a trip to Italy to fulfill her lifelong dream. We ended up going to Sicily and left with unforgettable memories.

We chose Sicily for a few reasons, including accessibility

With so many beautiful cities in Italy, it was difficult to choose the best place to go.

My grandmother had previously mentioned towns like Portofino and Cinque Terre, so we knew we had to stay coastal. Plus, since her birthday is in May, we wanted to go as far south as we could to enjoy some warm weather and the sea breeze.

We landed on Sicily and chose a quaint seafront hotel in Giardini Naxos, located just north of Catania. It turned out to be the perfect location and time of year to visit, especially with my grandmother's age, comfort, and needs in mind.

With two international airports located in Catania and Palermo, as well as a convenient railway system and a comprehensive bus network running across the island, Sicily is very easy to get to — and just as easy to navigate.

There was a direct bus from the airport to the town, giving my grandmother a chance to soak in the views and snap photos along the way.

May was the perfect time to enjoy warm weather with fewer crowds

The weather was warm enough to take a dip in the pool at our hotel, but we didn't have to deal with the sweltering Sicilian sun of the mid-summer months.

Since it wasn't peak season, the town had a relaxing feel with fewer tourists and crowds than we might've seen at a different time. We never had to wait in long lines, either.

From Giardini Naxos, we took a 15-minute bus ride to the iconic hilltop town of Taormina. The bus, running every 20 minutes, dropped us off right at the foot of the old town, which my grandmother greatly appreciated.

Although we skipped a "White Lotus" selfie at the Four Seasons in Taormina, we did meander down the side streets, indulge in gelato, and take in the panoramic views of Mt. Etna at Villa Comunale, the public gardens of Taormina.

I felt like we had an authentic Italian experience, complete with excellent hospitality and great food

Sicily taught me that the stereotype about Italian hospitality exists for a reason. Everywhere we went, we were greeted with "Ciao ragazzi" and warm smiles, making us feel right at home.

We ate fresh seafood dishes like pasta alle vongole (pasta with clams). Although she didn't partake, my grandmother admired my husband's adventurous appetite when he tried ricci di mare (sea urchins), a Sicilian delicacy.

All over the island, we saw the striking ceramic heads of a man and woman (teste di moro), often in the form of vases. Deeply rooted in Sicilian folklore, the heads have various stories explaining their origins, mostly involving themes of love and betrayal.

To remember our trip, my grandmother and I bought small ceramic pine cones, another powerful symbol in Sicilian culture, representing prosperity and good luck.

Making my grandmother smile on her birthday was the greatest gift of all

Although it was her first birthday without my grandfather, it was a beautiful experience for all of us.

For my grandmother, it meant not feeling alone in her grief and fulfilling a lifelong dream to visit Italy. For me, it meant making memories with my grandmother and seeing her smile.

Losing someone we love reminded us that we have to make the most of every moment. I'll always cherish this memory with my grandmother and am so grateful I was there for her first trip to Italy, though it certainly won't be our last.