One morning, I awoke to find my oldest daughter sitting on my bed with tears running down her cheeks. I sat up and asked her what was wrong. Her body heaved as an earthquake seemingly ran through her; she covered her mouth as her sobs became audible to the rest of the family. Then came the dreaded words that every parent hopes they won't hear- not at this time, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Mama, I'm so sorry." Her voice trailed off and I could hardly hear her. "I'm pregnant."

My daughter was 18, single and had just graduated from high school.

"I'm sorry, what ... what did you say? You're pregnant!"

My daughter threw herself in my arms. Unbelievable! Hel-lo! I was doing some volunteer counseling at our local pregnancy care center. My uncontrolled thoughts ran through my head. Hadn't I sat her down and told her all the things she could do and all the things she couldn't do? Hadn't I warned her about playing with matches? Hadn't she been listening?

I was jolted back to reality by her tears running down my neck. My heart broke. At the moment, what my thoughts were or the anger that was trying to take hold of my emotions were unimportant. I realized no matter what I was thinking or feeling, this wasn't about me. This was about my child, and right now my child needed me.

We all know that after 12 years of school, kids are straining at the bit with all their plans — travels, partying or the come-get-me-world attitude. They want to discover the world and place their flag that says, "I have arrived!"

I don't know what plans my daughter may have made for her life after graduation, but my belief holds that all children are a gift from God. In the days after her disclosure, I struggled with that idea as she walked her path of shame and aloneness. I couldn't find where this child could be a gift — not now and not at her age.

We talked for hours daily and she had bouts of depression. She tried to isolate herself from her friends and our wider 'ohana. Church now was far from her: In her mind, God had failed. We talked about reconciling herself to the only decision she would permit herself to make-it was her upbringing. She decided to keep the child.

The night she gave birth, she called to me and desperately reached for me with fear in her eyes, a terrible lasting memory for a mother. I held her hand and reassured her that everything would be all right. My child was having a child, yet in that moment I knew a change was coming; adulthood was standing at her door.

Over the years I've watched her, and my heart breaks for the struggles that she has had to endure as a single parent. And for my grandson, when he reached the age of awareness and asked, "Grandma, do I have a daddy?" But there is always an overwhelming sense of gratitude when I catch a glimpse of intimacy between them, a mother and her child.

My daughter has turned out to be a very responsible woman, and this gift of her son gave her that.

Watching her and knowing that she used to be a very shy and quiet little girl, I'm assured that now with her character of strength and self-determination her son was a given. She is a more powerful woman than the one that cried on my bed that morning. As her parent, I needed to contain me and my influence, because this was her journey, her experience. Because I choose her and her needs, and not mine, my grandson, Ponomaikalani, has been well received; he is such a blessing to behold.

It really is in the attitude of our minds that our course is set. In my daughter's case, she was taught that all things work for good for those who love. First she learned the lesson of forgiveness toward herself, then she could love. Our entire household was affected as it often is within the 'ohana, but we held to the course and the fruit of our labor returned to us a blessing.