There are moments in life that remind us just how much the world has changed, and how deeply those changes can cut into the fabric of our families. For Sheinelle Jones, co-host of NBC’s Today Show, that realization hit home in the most personal way—a heartbreak so many of us can relate to, yet one that feels uniquely raw when it’s your own child, your own parents, your own milestones slipping quietly by. In a world still reeling from the aftershocks of pandemic isolation, Sheinelle’s story about her son Oliver growing up without his grandparents around isn’t just another celebrity confession—it’s a universal ache, a gentle but piercing reminder of all we’ve lost, and all we’re still fighting to hold onto.
It’s easy to forget, watching the bright lights and banter of morning television, that these anchors are living through the same struggles as the rest of us. But Sheinelle’s candor during a recent segment of “Overheard on 3rd” cut through the studio polish and landed right where so many hearts are tender. She spoke about her parents—her mother in Florida, her father in New Jersey—and the distance that the pandemic, and life’s relentless logistics, have put between them and her son. Oliver, bright-eyed and full of wonder, was born in January, right before the world changed. The joy of his arrival was still fresh, his grandparents present to hold him, to marvel at his tiny hands, to dream about the future. And then, just like that, the doors closed. The world shrank. And the milestones began to pile up, unseen.
“I saw a story a while ago that grabbed my attention,” Sheinelle shared, her voice steady but weighted with emotion. “A mommy blogger had a baby, and her parents—or her husband’s parents—couldn’t see their grandkids. The more I talked to people who’ve given birth or what have you, I recognized we’re in this together. A lot of us can’t see our grandparents.” The words hung in the air, heavy with the truth of a generation forced apart by circumstances beyond anyone’s control.
But Sheinelle wasn’t content to let that be the end of the story. Instead, she turned her heartbreak into connection, reaching out to her own grandparents for a story that would bridge the distance in the only way possible: through a screen. “I called my grandparents and said, ‘Hey, can I interview you guys for this story?’ They were like, ‘How can we do that?’ So I put Zoom on this mom’s cell phone, had her take the phone to their house. Just trust me, I said.” It’s a scenario that has played out in countless homes across America—technology stepping in where hugs and hand-holding once lived.
The snippet she shared on air was as simple as it was profound. “Grandpa, how are you doing in this moment?” she asked. “I feel very, very, very good,” he replied. “And the reason for it is I can see your picture. And I know that you’re doing fine.” It’s the kind of exchange that could easily get lost in the noise of daily life, but now, it’s a lifeline—a reminder that love can stretch across any distance, even if it can’t close the gap completely.
Her grandmother’s wisdom was equally poignant. “You just go day to day and stay positive. When Val gets kind of down, I tell him get on back up. Because if you get down, I’ll get down there with you. We both have to stay up.” There’s a resilience in those words, a quiet strength that has carried families through wars, depressions, and now, a pandemic that refuses to loosen its grip.
Sheinelle’s honesty about the challenges of keeping those connections alive was both refreshing and relatable. “I feel like your grandma-ma loves Zoom,” one of her co-hosts joked. “She could have talked the whole time.” Sheinelle laughed, admitting it was her grandmother’s first Zoom call, but certainly not her last. “If you have grandparents like I do that are older, you get a cousin or maybe ask another family member to take their phone over there… It’s really worth it to see them.” It’s advice born of necessity, but also of hope—a practical roadmap for anyone desperate to keep the threads of family from unraveling.
But beneath the resourcefulness and humor, there’s a raw ache that Sheinelle doesn’t try to hide. “There’s a part of me that sometimes doesn’t want to do it because it’s not the same,” she confessed. “But the reward you get after doing it feels like as if you saw someone in person.” It’s a bittersweet truth—technology can never replace the warmth of an embrace, the smell of a grandparent’s kitchen, the sound of laughter echoing through a house full of family. But in these times, it’s all we have. And sometimes, it’s enough.
Sheinelle’s story took an even more personal turn as she reflected on Oliver’s first months and the milestones her parents have missed. “Oliver was born right before the pandemic became a thing. He was born in January, and my dad was there. My mom was there. Everybody got to see Oliver right when he was born. Then the pandemic hit. My mom lives in Florida. My dad’s in New Jersey but he’s not coming into New York City, which was the worst place to be for a while. And even still, Dad, you want to come to New York? I’m not comfortable coming into New York.” The heartbreak is palpable—not just for Sheinelle, but for every parent, every grandparent, every child who has felt the sting of separation.
“We go down there. We’ll have a picnic outside or something. But it’s… and Oliver is going through all these milestones right now. It breaks my heart my parents aren’t there to watch all of this happen.” The words are simple, but the pain behind them is anything but. Every first step, every new word, every burst of laughter is a reminder of what’s missing—the grandparents who would have been there, who should have been there, if only the world hadn’t turned upside down.
Yet even in the midst of all this loss, Sheinelle finds ways to laugh, to connect, to share the quirks and traditions that bind her family together. In a lighter moment on the show, she recounted the story of pre-chewing food for her son—a habit passed down, she thought, from her own grandmother. “I did it to Kayin,” she admitted sheepishly, prompting a round of laughter from her co-hosts. “Not all the time, but sometimes he would… like a bird.” The memory sparked a debate, with her grandmother quick to set the record straight: “Oh, no, no, baby girl. We didn’t do that. We’re not birds.”
It’s a moment that captures the messy, beautiful reality of family—full of misunderstandings, inside jokes, and the kind of unconditional love that survives even the strangest traditions. It’s also a reminder that, no matter how much things change, some things remain the same: the desire to care for our children, to pass down our stories, to laugh at ourselves and each other.
Sheinelle’s willingness to share her heartbreak, her humor, and her hope is a gift to viewers—a reminder that we’re not alone in our struggles, that it’s okay to grieve what we’ve lost, and that it’s possible to find joy even in the midst of sorrow. Her story is a microcosm of what so many families have endured over the past few years—a tapestry of love and loss, resilience and regret, stitched together by the small acts of connection that keep us going.
As the world slowly opens up and families begin to gather again, the scars of separation will linger. There will always be moments we can’t get back, milestones missed, memories that exist only in photos and on screens. But there will also be new beginnings, new traditions, and the enduring hope that, someday soon, we’ll be able to hold each other close again.
For Sheinelle, for Oliver, for her parents and grandparents, that day can’t come soon enough. But until it does, they—and we—will keep finding ways to bridge the distance, to celebrate the moments we have, and to cherish the bonds that no pandemic, no distance, no heartbreak can ever truly break.
In the end, Sheinelle’s story isn’t just about loss—it’s about love. The kind of love that shows up on Zoom calls and in care packages, in awkward technology lessons and in the laughter that bubbles up even in the darkest times. It’s the love that keeps us going, that reminds us who we are, and that gives us the strength to hope for better days.
So if you’re missing your parents, your grandparents, your children or your friends, take comfort in knowing you’re not alone. The heartbreak is real—but so is the hope. And as Sheinelle Jones has shown us, sometimes all it takes is a phone call, a Zoom chat, or a shared laugh to remind us that, no matter how far apart we are, we’re still in this together.
