In July, Valarie Watts faced one of the most devastating moments any parent could endure: the stillbirth of her son, Noah. For months leading up to his anticipated arrival, Watts had carefully prepared, filling her home with baby items that symbolized the hope and excitement of bringing her son into the world. But after his sudden passing, the heartbroken mother found herself surrounded by those same items, each one a painful reminder of the son she had lost.

In an attempt to move forward and heal, Watts decided to sell many of the baby items during a yard sale in her small Minnesota town. The majority of Noah’s belongings found new homes, but one item remained untouched—a white crib. She couldn’t bring herself to part with it. It sat quietly in the corner, its presence both comforting and sorrowful. Watts wasn’t ready to say goodbye to it yet.

That same day, Gerald Kumpula, a 75-year-old retired craftsman, stopped by the sale. He noticed the crib and, inspired by its solid frame, asked if he could purchase it. Kumpula had a reputation for turning headboards and footboards into beautiful handmade benches, and he saw potential in the white crib. Despite her initial hesitation, Watts eventually agreed to sell it for two dollars, reasoning that it might become something new and meaningful in someone else’s home.

“I was kind of at peace with it because he’d be making something nice out of it,” Watts later shared.

Unbeknownst to Watts, Gerald’s wife, Lorene, had struck up a conversation with her during the sale. Lorene had noticed baby clothes on display and casually asked about the age of Watts’s child. What followed was an emotional exchange in which Watts shared her story—how she had lost Noah just days before his expected arrival. Lorene listened with compassion, her heart heavy with understanding.

As the Kumpulas drove home that day, Lorene recounted Watts’s tragic story to her husband. With fifteen children and several grandchildren of their own, the couple deeply empathized with Watts’s pain. Their own first grandchild had been stillborn, making the loss all too familiar.

“An abandoned crib is a somber reminder,” Gerald explained later. “A bench functions more as a monument. It’s a part of that awful event, but it’s not just an empty crib. It’s something new.”

Moved by her story, Gerald decided to transform the crib not into a bench for his own home, but as a gift for Watts. Over the next week, he worked carefully, crafting a bench that honored the crib’s original form while giving it a new purpose—a memorial for Noah.

A week later, the Kumpulas arrived at Watts’s doorstep with the completed bench. Overwhelmed with emotion, Watts described the gift as “beautiful” and said it was a testament to the kindness of strangers.

“There are still good people out there,” she reflected.

The bench now sits in her living room, nestled in a corner filled with Noah’s mementos. Nearby is a small bookcase holding footprints, handprints, ashes, and photographs—all cherished reminders of the brief but meaningful life her son lived.

“I’m so happy that it’s not just sitting around doing nothing,” Watts said, speaking of the crib’s transformation. “Now I can sit in it, cuddle his bear, and reflect on him when I need to.”

Watts’s journey to healing has not been easy. In the final days of her full-term pregnancy, she had noticed a decrease in Noah’s movements. When she underwent an emergency cesarean section on July 22, doctors confirmed the unthinkable: Noah was not breathing. His umbilical cord had constricted, cutting off his oxygen supply. While Watts survived, she was left to grapple with a grief no mother should ever have to bear.

For the Kumpulas, their decision to return the bench was driven purely by compassion. When Watts attempted to pay Gerald for his time and work, he refused.

“Being able to assist someone is just pleasant,” he said simply. “Helping others is good.”

Watts, who works as a babysitter, finds solace in the bench’s presence. She often sits there, reflecting on Noah and the bond they share. “Even though he’s not here, I feel comforted by his presence when I’m sitting in it,” she explained. “Everything has a calm, ‘it’s okay’ vibe to it. When I’m feeling down, I can sit there and feel better, knowing that everything will work out in the end.”

This fall, Watts plans to marry her fiancé, Jimi Hamblin, with whom she shares a 7-year-old daughter, Nevaeh. For the family, the bench has become more than a piece of furniture. It’s a symbol of love, loss, and hope—a tangible reminder of the kindness that can arise from tragedy.

In a world that often feels divided, the Kumpulas’ act of generosity serves as a powerful reminder that compassion and empathy can make a profound difference. For Watts, the bench will always be a cherished connection to Noah, offering comfort and hope as she continues her journey of healing.