Loved by millions, Canadian-born singer Michael Bublé reached worldwide fame back in 2005 with his album It’s Time and his 2007 album Call Me Irresponsible, which reached number one on the Canadian Albums Chart, the UK Albums Chart, the US Billboard 200, and several others.
Over the years, the Grammy Award winner has sold over 75 million records worldwide, but despite the enormous fame he enjoys, he has stayed grounded.
Michael is married to Argentine actress Luisana Lopilato with whom he has four children.
The couple’s son Noah, who will be 9 this year, has gone through an ordeal when he was diagnosed with liver cancer at the age of just 3.
At the time the singer heard the devastating news, he was promoting his ninth studio album Nobody But Me. It was shortly before performing at The One Show on BBC One in London.
“Three minutes before I came on, my wife texted and told me something was wrong,” he said during an interview with U.K.’s Evening Standard in July 2018, and added, “I just died.”
Luckily, Noah is now in remission, but Bublé described the ordeal as “the worst possible thing that you could hear as a parent, and as maybe a human being.”
“I much rather would have it have been me. Many times I wish that it had been,” the musician said and added that the experience made them even stronger as a family and gave them a new outlook at life.
On Noah’s eight birthday, Bublé shared an emotional post on Instagram, writing, “Today my hero turns 8. I’ve never met anyone as brave… I’ve never known anyone as kind or as good-hearted… and I’ll never truly be able to express how proud I am, or how deep and profound Mommy’s and my love is for you. You’ve blessed our lives in every way.”
Along with the touching message, the musician shared two photos of him and Noah over the years.
Bublé said that the prayers they received by fans, friends, and strangers helped them in their battle against the cancer as a family.
My granddaughter was constantly mocked by her classmates because of her braces.
The sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I sat at the table, sipping my tea, when the doorbell chimed. A wave of excitement washed over me. It was Lizzie, my granddaughter, a whirlwind of energy and sunshine.
But today, her smile seemed a little forced, her eyes downcast. “Hi Grandma,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.
My heart sank. I knew something was wrong. Lizzie, usually a chatterbox, was unusually quiet. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, pulling her onto my lap.
She shrugged, her shoulders drooping. “Nothing.”
“Come on, darling,” I coaxed. “You can tell me anything.”
After a long pause, she finally admitted, “The kids at school are teasing me again.”
My blood ran cold. “Teasing you about what?”
Lizzie looked down at her feet, her voice barely audible. “My braces… and now my glasses.”
My heart ached. I remembered the cruel taunts I had endured as a child, the feeling of being different, of not fitting in. I couldn’t bear to see my granddaughter go through the same thing.
“Lizzie,” I said, my voice firm, “those kids are just mean. They’re jealous. You are beautiful, inside and out, with or without braces or glasses.”
She looked at me doubtfully. “But everyone else is wearing contacts.”
A mischievous glint entered my eye. “Really? Well, then I guess I need to get some contacts too!”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “But Grandma, you don’t need glasses!”
I chuckled. “Oh, but I do, darling. I’ve been needing glasses for a while now, but I’ve been too stubborn to admit it.”
And with that, I went to my room and emerged a few minutes later, sporting a pair of stylish, oversized glasses. Lizzie stared at me, her mouth agape.
“Grandma!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “We look like twins!”
She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Thank you, Grandma,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re the best grandma ever. I love you!”
My heart melted. I had never expected this reaction. I had simply wanted to comfort her, to show her that she wasn’t alone. But seeing her smile, her eyes shining with admiration, filled me with a joy I hadn’t felt in years.
From that day on, Lizzie embraced her glasses. She even started experimenting with different frames, choosing colors and styles that expressed her individuality. The teasing continued, of course, but it no longer had the power to dim her light.
And I, her unlikely accomplice, watched with pride as she blossomed into a confident, beautiful young woman, her glasses becoming a part of her unique identity. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to combat negativity is with a little bit of humor and a whole lot of love.
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