Prince Harry and Meghan Markle are proud parents of two beautiful children who were recently given the right to carry royal titles, that of a prince and a princess.
They welcomed their first child, Archie, while they were still working royals. The little one was born at The Portland Hospital in London on May 6, 2019. However, even before he was welcomed into the world, Archie found himself in a middle of a controversy when his parents gave Oprah an interview during which they revealed that a senior royal questioned his color.
When Archie was born, Harry wasn’t much interested in revealing details surrounding the birth of the baby. However, he was forced into sharing with the people that Archie arrived into the world due to the breach of the “unwritten contract between the royals and the public.”
Harry and Meghan posed with him in front of the Portland Hospital in London, where he was born, as is the tradition.
“Today The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are delighted to shаrе their first public moment as a family,” the Sussexes wrote.
Although both Prince Harry and Prince William, as well as many other members of the royal family, including William’s children, were born at St Mary’s Hospital, the Sussexes chose not to give birth to Archie there.
“He and Meghan were thrilled to be safely delivered of their son in London’s private Portland hospital even before the palace press office had confirmed the duchess was in labor.”
In her book The New Royals: Queen Elizabeth’s Legacy and the Future of the Crown, author Katie Nicholl described Harry as “almost morbidly obsessed” with keeping Archie’s birth as secretive as possible.
“Behind the scenes, matters were so fraught that more than one official — as I know from personal experience — was reduced to tears of frustration and despair,” Rebecca English, royal editor of the Daily Mail, added.
Now, with the family residing in the States, they don’t need to worry about cameras or paparazzi photographers that much, nor they are forced to post photos of their children on their birthdays, as it is with the royal family’s tradition.
They also shаrеd photos of the little one meeting his great-grandma, Queen Elizabeth, for the first time.
Later, as Archie grew a bit, Harry and Meghan took a trip to South Africa where they met Archbishop Desmond Tutu. “Thank you Archbishop Tutu for your incredibly warm hospitality, Archie loved meeting you!” they wrote on Instagram along with a series of photos of their son.
Except for that, they have tried keeping both their children out of the spotlight as much as possible.
However, that changed when the Netflix documentary about Harry and Meghan, consisting of six episodes, aired.
In the documentary series, Meghan explained how she was anxious about what might happen the day her baby boy was born.
“There was already the pressure of the picture on the steps. … But I had been really worried going into that labor because I’m older, I didn’t know if I’d have to have a c-section, and I had a very longstanding relationship with my doctor, and that’s who I trusted with my pregnancy,” she said.
On Sunday, June 6, 2021, the Sussexes welcomed their baby daughter, Lilibet Diana. The couple were eager to pay tribute to Lili’s great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth II whose nickname as a child was Lilibet, and her grandmother, Princess Diana.
However, experts claimed at the time that the Queen wasn’t happy with the choice of the name. Further, they claimed choosing that name was “disrespectful.”
“Even naming this child sparked a diplomatic scuffle. Hating even to think about the admittedly labyrinthine rules of protocol that surrounded the British royal family, Meghan, and Harry called her Lilibet, apparently in the belief that it would be a wonderful surprise for her great-grandmother, Queen Elizabeth,” royal expert Tom Quinn wrote in his book Gilded Youth An Intimate History of Growing Up in the Royal Family.
“That Harry did not have the sense to predict that this would cause trouble is beyond belief. He surely would have known that appropriating the monarch’s beloved childhood nickname would be perceived by many as disrespectful and intrusive in a way that naming their daughter Elizabeth would have not been.”
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“The Queen may well have been upset that her grandson and his family laid claim to the intimate nickname that had always been very much part of the Queen’s private life, but it is perhaps more likеly that the flunkeys who surround the monarch and some of the starchier older royals were irritated by what they saw as a presumption.”
Before Lili was born, Meghan fell pregnant in 2020, but she suffered miscarriage.
At one point, Meghan opened up about the heartbreak she and Prince Harry experienced after losing the baby.
She shаrеd a powerful essay on grief after miscarriage written for The New York Times, The Losses We Share, which touched many.
“Losing a child means carrying an almost unbearable grief, experienced by many but talked about by few,” the 39-year-old Duchess explained.
“I felt a sharp cramp. I dropped to the floor with him in my arms, humming a lullaby to keep us both calm, the cheerful tune a stark contrast to my sense that something was not right.
“I knew, as I clutched my firstborn child, that I was losing my second.
“Hours later, I lay in a hospital bed, holding my husband’s hand. I felt the clamminess of his palm and kissed his knuckles, wet from both our tears. Staring at the cold white walls, my eyes glazed over. I tried to imagine how we’d heal.”
Even today, when the anniversary of her miscarriage approaches, Meghan feels the same pain.
“She feels so blessed to have Archie and Lili and the family she and Harry have created. But naturally, as the anniversary of her miscarriage approaches, she does have sadness. The date is very poignant for her,” a person close to her told OK!.
“But Meghan is always looking towards the future and is just so grateful for the happiness she has in her life with Harry and the kids.”
She wants her children to understand that “mummies work as well.” At the same time, “Her family life will always come first, she will fit work in around the children’s schedules so she is there for them when they need her and she just wants to make the most of and cherish every moment with them as they grow up,” the source explained.
Meghan doesn’t want to be away from her children for a longer period of time and that is one of the reasons why she and Harry made a decision to take their children with them when traveling abroad in the future.
“Meghan doesn’t likе being away from her children as she doesn’t want to miss a thing with them growing up so fast,” a source told OK!.
“With Lili turning three, it’s really got Meghan and Harry thinking about their future and how quickly the children are growing up. Meghan especially feels that her babies are no longer babies, and likе most mums, it makes her slightly sad and wistful that the baby years have come to an end.”
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When My Grandma with Dementia Mistook Me for Her Husband, I Couldn’t Handle It—But Then I Realized Something Important
It was my senior year, and I thought it would be filled with exams, friends, and plans for the future. Instead, I was at home watching my grandmother decline from dementia. She often mistook me for her late husband, George. It drove me crazy—until one day, everything changed.
That day is one I will always remember. My grandmother, Gretchen, was not doing well. She was forgetful, confused, and her health was getting worse.
Mom and I knew something was wrong, but getting Grandma to see a doctor was not easy. She was stubborn and insisted she was fine. However, we finally convinced her to go.
After several tests, the doctor met with us and shared the news: dementia. I remember how Mom’s face fell when he explained that there wasn’t much they could do.
The medication might slow the disease down, but it wouldn’t stop it from getting worse. We had to accept that things were going to change.
That same day, we decided Grandma would move in with us. We couldn’t leave her alone, especially after my grandfather, George, passed away a few years ago. It was the right choice, but it didn’t make things any easier.
That night, I sat at my desk, trying to study for my exams. It was my final year, and I had a lot to handle. Then I heard her crying and whispering to someone.
I got up and walked toward her room, feeling sad. She was talking to Grandpa as if he were right there. It broke my heart to hear her, but there was nothing I could do.
As the months passed, Grandma’s condition got worse. There were days when she didn’t recognize where she was or who we were. Those moments were short but still hurt deeply.
One morning, I came downstairs to find Mom cleaning the kitchen. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept much.
“Did Grandma move everything around again last night?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Mom kept cleaning. “Yes,” she said quietly. “She woke up in the night and said the plates and cups were wrong. I told her nothing had changed, but she didn’t believe me. She kept moving things around, looking for things that weren’t even there.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just patted her back. “It’ll be okay,” I mumbled, even though I wasn’t sure it would be.
Mom shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to worry about this. You have school to focus on. Do you want some breakfast?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll eat later.” I picked up an apple from the table to have something in my hand and headed for the door. Mom didn’t say anything as I left.
When I got home, the house was quiet. Mom was still at work. I heard soft footsteps upstairs. Grandma was moving around again. I followed the sound and found her in the kitchen, shifting plates and cups from one cabinet to another.
She turned when she saw me, her eyes lighting up. “George! You’re back!” She rushed toward me with open arms.
I froze, unsure what to do. “No, Grandma. It’s me—Michael, your grandson.”
But she shook her head, not hearing me. “George, what are you talking about? We’re too young to have grandchildren. Someone moved the dishes again. Was it your mother? She always changes everything.”
I stood there, feeling helpless. “Grandma, listen. I’m not George. I’m Michael, your grandson. You’re at our house, mine and your daughter Carol’s.”
Her smile faded, and she looked confused. “George, stop saying these strange things. You’re scaring me. We don’t have a daughter. Remember? You promised to take me on that date by the sea. When can we go?”
I sighed, not knowing how to respond. I couldn’t keep telling her the truth; she didn’t understand. “I… I don’t know, Grandma,” I said softly, then turned and left the kitchen.
When Mom got home, I told her what had happened.
She sat down and smiled sadly. “I understand why she thinks you’re George.”
I frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
Mom looked up at me. “You look just like him when he was young. It’s like you’re his twin.”
I was quiet for a moment. “I’ve never seen any pictures of him when he was younger.”
Mom stood up from the couch. “Come with me. I’ll show you.” She walked toward the attic and pulled down the stairs. I followed her up as she searched through a few old boxes. Finally, she handed me an old photo album.
I opened it. The first picture looked worn and faded. The man in it? He looked just like me.
“Is this Grandpa?” I asked, flipping through the pages.
“Yes,” Mom said softly. “See what I mean? You two really do look alike.”
“Too much alike,” I whispered, staring at the pictures.
“You can keep the album if you want,” Mom said.
That night, I sat in my room, flipping through the album again. I couldn’t believe how much I looked like him.
Grandma’s condition got worse every day. She barely spoke, and when she did, it was hard to understand her.
Sometimes she couldn’t even walk without help. Mom had to feed her most days. But no matter what, Grandma always called me “George.”
One afternoon, after she said it again, I snapped. “I’m not George! I’m Michael! Your grandson! Why don’t you understand?”
Mom looked up from where she was sitting. “Michael, she doesn’t understand anymore.”
“I don’t care!” I shouted. “I’m tired of this! I can’t handle it!”
I turned toward the hallway, my anger boiling over.
“Where are you going?” Mom asked, standing up quickly.
“I need to get out of here,” I said, my voice shaking. I grabbed my jacket and slammed the door behind me before Mom could say anything else. I needed space, away from it all. Away from Grandma’s confusion and my own frustration.
Without thinking, I ended up at the cemetery where my grandfather was buried. I walked between the rows of headstones until I found his grave.
Seeing his name on the stone brought a lump to my throat. I sat down on the grass in front of it and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Why aren’t you here?” I asked, staring at the headstone. “You always knew what to do.”
The silence felt deafening. I sat there for what felt like hours, lost in my thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the times Grandpa had been there for me, for Mom, for Grandma. He had a way of making everything seem simple, no matter how hard life got.
Then, suddenly, a memory hit me. I was about five or six years old, wearing Grandpa’s big jacket and hat, telling him I wanted to be just like him.
He laughed so hard, but I remembered the pride in his eyes. That memory made me smile, even as tears streamed down my face.
It was getting dark, and I knew I had to go home. When I walked through the door, Mom was waiting, her face tight with worry.
“After you left, I took Grandma to the doctor,” she said, her voice breaking. “He said she doesn’t have much time left.”
I walked over and hugged her tightly, no words coming to mind. At that moment, I realized what I had to do.
The next day, I put on the suit that used to belong to Grandpa. It felt strange, like I was stepping into his shoes for real this time. I took Mom’s car and drove Grandma to the sea. She sat quietly beside me, not saying much, but I knew she was lost in her world.
When we got there, I had already set up a small table by the shore. The sea breeze felt cool, and the sound of the waves was calming.
I helped Grandma out of the car and guided her to the table. After she sat down, I lit the candles, their warm glow flickering in the wind.
“George!” Grandma said with a big smile. “You remembered our date by the sea.”
Her voice was weak, but I could see how happy she was. She looked at me like I really was Grandpa, her eyes full of warmth.
“Yes, Gretchen,” I said, sitting beside her. “I never forgot. How could I?”
She nodded slowly, still smiling. “It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”
That evening, I served Grandma the pasta Grandpa always made. I had spent hours in the kitchen earlier, following his recipe, hoping it would taste just like she remembered.
As she ate, I watched her closely, searching her face for any sign of recognition. She took slow bites, and I could see something change in her expression—a flicker of happiness.
After dinner, I played their favorite song, the one they used to dance to. The familiar melody filled the air, and I stood up, holding out my hand. “Would you like to dance, Gretchen?”
She looked at me, her eyes softening. “Of course, George.” I gently helped her up, and we swayed together.
For the first time in a long while, she smiled. In that moment, I could see she wasn’t lost in confusion; she was back in her happiest memories.
On the way home, she held my hand. “Thank you, George,” she said. “This was the best date ever.”
I just smiled at her, my heart heavy but full.
Two days later, Grandma passed away. I remember waking up that morning and feeling like something was different, like the house was quieter than usual.
When Mom told me, I didn’t know what to say. We just sat together in silence for a while, both of us crying. It was hard to accept, even though we knew it was coming.
I felt deep sadness, but at the same time, a strange sense of peace. I knew Gretchen was finally with her George again, where she belonged.
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