She was my hero and my inspiration.
“Grandma, when I grow up, I want to be a social worker so I can save children the same way you saved me,” I told her when I was ten years old.
She was my hero.
She hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack.
“You can be anything you want, kiddo. Absolutely anything.”
But the truth was, we never had much.
No family trips, no takeout, and none of those “just because” gifts other kids seemed to get. As I grew up, I noticed an unsettling pattern emerge in my life with Grandma.
I noticed an unsettling pattern emerge in my life with Grandma.
“Grandma, can I get a new outfit?” I’d ask. “All the kids at school are wearing these branded jeans, and I want a pair.”
“We can’t afford that, kiddo.”
That was her answer to every request for anything extra. I hated that sentence more than anything else in the entire world.
I grew angry at her for always saying NO.
I hated that sentence more than anything else in the entire world.
While the other boys wore trendy, name-brand clothes, I wore hand-me-downs.
My friends all had new phones, but mine was an ancient brick that barely held a charge.
Part 2:
It was an awful, selfish anger, the kind that made me cry hot tears into my pillow at night, hating myself for hating her, but still unable to stop the resentment.
She told me I could be anything I wanted, but that promise started to feel like a lie.
Then Grandma got sick, and the anger was replaced by a deep, sickening fear.
Grandma got sick, and the anger was replaced by a deep, sickening fear.
The woman who had carried my whole world on her shoulders suddenly couldn’t walk up the stairs without gasping for air.
