How 24-Year-Old Postman Took Me to His House after I Was Totally Forgotten by My Own Son- Inspiring Story

A 76-year-old woman abandoned in a nursing home by her beloved son finds her faith in love restored after a young postman takes her home.

“Congratulations, Mariam—It’s a boy!” cried my mom and husband as I slowly fell unconscious after my son Bobby was born.

When I woke up, my husband kissed me and said, “Darling, I’m so happy we have a son. I’m sure he will make us proud one day.”

Oh, Frank, if you only knew how wrong you were…

I loved Frank so much and never imagined a life without him. But fate took him away from me too soon and presented me with an irrecoverable loss.

Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if Frank hadn’t died in that accident six months after Bobby was born. Would things have turned out differently? But fate has some of the darkest plans for some of us, and I am no exception.

I was taken to the visitor’s area, full of hope to see my son. But an unfamiliar man was waiting for me in the hall.
So, there I was—a beautiful young widow in my late 20s, holding my six-month-old baby in my arms and blinking at the hollow future ahead, unsure how to raise him.

“What will I do with this baby, mom? How will I raise him?” I cried on my mother’s lap. “What am I going to do?”



My mom pushed me into an ocean of motivation, saying, “Mariam, darling, you can surely raise your son just like I raised you. Count on your confidence, and don’t lose hope.”

My mom was widowed too young, but she put all her efforts into raising me, so why couldn’t I? That’s what drove me to work two jobs to raise my boy.

In no time, I shuttled between waitressing and doing some cleaning work in a local school. Who wouldn’t want double income? I was glad about my paychecks because they were a huge investment for my son’s future.

But then I faced another blow when Bobby, who was then 16 months old, attempted to take his first baby steps. He was limping. I worried, so I immediately took him to the doctor.

“Nothing to worry about. It’s just a delay in his mobility… Some assisted walking will help,” the doctor said. I was not completely relieved but thankful my baby was alright.



Besides working two jobs, I spent time daily helping Bobby walk. He managed to take slow, wobbly steps without my assistance. It ripped my heart whenever he fell.

I was so occupied raising my son all those years I didn’t have enough time to look at myself properly in the mirror, and when I finally did, there were strands of grey hair on my head. I had grown old.

Time flew past me like magic, and before I knew it, my son was graduating from college summa cum laude. It was the happiest moment of my life when he called me on stage and announced on the mic that he was proud to be my son. Tears of joy streamed down my eyes. Then my happiness doubled when he introduced Amber to me.

“Mom, meet my girlfriend, Amber. We’re planning to get married after I join my new job,” he said.

I was happy to see my son decide his future. I still thought of him as that little boy who held my hands while he struggled to walk. But he had grown over my shoulders and was all set to build his future with Amber. I was happy, and why wouldn’t I be? After all, I only wished for his happiness.

Six months later, my son and his girlfriend told me they were getting married in an intimate ceremony. I was so excited and wanted to do something nice for their wedding.

A week before their big day, I withdrew some money from my savings and spent it on a lovely bridal gown for Amber, for the reception, and the decor. I was so happy to see her walk down the aisle in that gown and stand beside my Bobby.



The church bells chimed, filling the vestibule as my son and his bride exchanged their wedding rings. It brought tears to my eyes. I sighed, assuming their lives had settled. But then Bobby came to my room one day and asked if I could sell my house and give him the money.

“Mom, trust me—It’s for my business. And we will move into a bigger house soon. Let’s sell this old house,” he urged.

It was my late husband’s treasured home, and I didn’t want to sell it. But I could not deny Bobby. A few days later, I signed the papers, and that house was not mine anymore. It was sold, much to Bobby and Amber’s joy.

I believed my son and never questioned him. Looking back, how did I miss the potholes in that seemingly sweet and flawless mother-son relationship?

After we sold the house, I had nowhere to go and happily moved in with Bobby and his wife. It was his idea, not mine.

The first few months were fine until Amber revealed her pregnancy. I was so happy to become a grandmother. From planning their nursery to knitting tiny sweaters and socks for my grandchild, I was utterly absorbed in this joy.

But things were never the same after my granddaughter was born. My health started deteriorating, and I could not walk well because old age was getting the best of me.

One day, I missed a step on the stairs and fell. Had I known it would cost my ability to walk, I wouldn’t have climbed those fateful stairs. I was bedridden then put in a wheelchair.

A few days later, I overheard Amber fuming at my son…

“Send her away to the nursing home. We cannot take care of both your mother and our baby. She has to fend for herself now,” she said.

I felt my heart melt in pain. I waited to hear what Bobby would say. I thought he would stand up for me. But that day, my son stabbed me emotionally.

“Alright, I’ll talk to mom. I’ll send her to a facility,” he said, shaking me.

Later that evening, Bobby approached me in slow, guilty steps and told me about moving me to a nursing home.

“I’m ready, son,” I replied, turning around. He was quite shocked that I had already packed my bags.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’ll do something about it soon. I’ll bring you back home, alright?” he comforted me.

Bobby left me in the nursing home two days later and drove away, promising to return as soon as possible. Days, months, and years passed, but Bobby never came. He wrote to me for the first few years and then stopped reaching out completely.

Thankfully, Medicaid covered me, and maybe he assumed his duty as a son was over after leaving me at the home. But my heart wouldn’t listen. I started sending him letters weekly, and whenever I saw the postman delivering mail, my heart jumped, hoping I had a letter from Bobby.

“Do I have mail today?” I often asked the mailman.

“Mrs. Carter! You needn’t ask me. If you had any, I would’ve given it to you already. I’m sorry, there’s none for you today,” he said.

I was hurt. Even the cool breeze that tingled my skin felt like hot volcanic ashes. I was restless and shattered. But I kept writing to Bobby, hoping he would respond or come and see me.

One day, I was resting under the tree watching the birds when my caretaker said someone had come to see me.

“Bobby?!” I exclaimed, tears clouding my eyes. I was 76, and my eyesight slowly deteriorated. I thanked God for keeping me alive and giving me the ability to see because I did not want to die without seeing my boy.

I was taken to the visitor’s area, full of hope to see my son. But an unfamiliar man was waiting for me in the hall.


“Hey there?! Nice to meet you,” he said, waving at me.

“Had he mistaken me for someone else?” I thought. I turned around, but nobody was there, except him and me. This stranger had come for me. But why? And who was he?

“You must be Mariam? Hi, I’m Drake. I am a postman,” he introduced himself.

I was confused and did not understand why he had come to see me. Before I could ask him for an explanation, he signed some papers and told me he wanted to take me home.

I thought my son Bobby had sent Drake to fetch me. I was so excited, thinking my prayers were finally answered.

We took a taxi, and since I had not gone out for a long time, the route seemed unfamiliar. Then we stopped in front of a house. But It was not Bobby’s home.

“Sarah, she’s home! Are you happy now?” he shouted, as he helped me out of the taxi.


What was going on? Why had this man taken me to his house? And why should his wife be happy to have me around?

Drake took me inside, and his twin daughters, Emily and Rosie, were jumping around screaming, “Grandma! Grandma!”

“Mrs. Carter, I know you must be puzzled. I’m glad I found you and brought you home,” he said, brewing my curiosity even further.

Then Drake told me something that, at first, was too hard to believe. But after he showed me some proof, I fell into his arms and cried like a lost child.

“I’m the postman delivering the mail to the address you post them to. Last week, I learned those letters were for your son, Bobby. I found his wife discarding a pile of letters in the public trashcan. None of the envelopes were ripped open. I collected the letters and read them. I’m sorry, but I was curious—not that I wanted to intrude or something. It broke my heart after reading your letters, Mrs. Carter.”

Tears endlessly flowed down my eyes as I listened further…

“I went to see your son and his wife to talk about you. I even gave them the last letter you mailed them. But they refused to take it and said they had no time to read your rubbish.”

Rubbish? My son called my heartfelt letters rubbish. I still could not believe my ears. I gave him my son’s number and asked him to call him in front of me. He did it and even put the phone on the loudspeaker, and Bobby’s words still echo in my ears.

“How did you get my number? And I told you not to talk about my mother. She’s doing fine in the nursing home. I don’t have time to talk about her,” I heard Bobby’s voice before he angrily hung up.


At that moment, I felt my life had already ended. I felt my soul trapped in my frail body, waiting to unite with my Frank. But I realized I had an important task left and waited for the right time to do it.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pixabay
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pixabay

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Drake and Sarah did not have parents and had always yearned for that love. When Drake found out about me, he did not have the heart to ignore me and wanted to help me live a peaceful life. He offered to adopt me, and though I was hesitant, I chose not to deny that pleasure.

The couple took me in and looked after me like their mother. They helped me heal and restored my faith in love. So I decided to leave them a little surprise, and they will only come to know about it after my death.

I secretly drafted a will, bequeathing the $50,000 I had saved to my 24-year-old son Drake. Please don’t judge me. I am not repaying him for looking after me. He is like my second son, and I am just doing what a mother would for her child.


As for Bobby, I forgave him because a mother’s heart only knows to forgive and love her child. He never came to see me, and I wonder if he would do that before I go to the grave. I do not regret anything now because God has given me a beautiful family and two granddaughters. What more could I ask for than this?