For years, I sacrificed comfort and health to help the grandson I raised, believing he was barely getting by. But one birthday call with his son revealed an unexpected truth I never saw coming.
My name’s Jackie, and I’m 80 years old. I’ve lived in the same house in a small town for over five decades, and the roof has leaked since I took on the role of guardian for my grandson.
It remained that way because I wasn’t living for myself; I’d made a promise to my late daughter.
I used to call my house “cozy,” but now, it’s just cold and broken.
Still, I stayed put, not as if I had a choice. For years, I told myself that all the little things I went without were worth it because I was living for my grandson, Dylan.
He was my late daughter Molly’s only child.
She died when she was only 35, and Lord, I don’t think I’ve drawn a deep breath since the day we buried her.
I raised Dylan from the time he was 13 and still remember how tightly he clutched onto my coat at her funeral. How small he looked, even though he was already almost taller than me.
From that moment on, I made him a promise, not out loud or for show.
But it was one I repeated every morning while standing at the kitchen sink: “I’ll carry you as far as I can, Dylan.
I’ll carry you as long as I breathe.”
And I did, even when it hurt and no matter the cost.
That boy became my reason to keep going.
So I worked hard.
I only had one major skill, sewing. So, I sewed and sold everything I could just so my grandson could have it better. My work included making shirts, socks, and old linens turned into baby bibs.
I also made blouses, which I hawked at flea markets and church sales along with the other items for a few dollars each.
So much time was spent on that old sewing machine that I became quite good at fixing buttons and darning holes.
When my fingers grew stiff and ached from arthritis, I wrapped them and continued.
The truth was, I didn’t have much, but I always made sure Dylan had what he needed.
By the time he started staying on his own, with roommates, he’d still call me, saying, “Grandma, can you send a little for rent this month?” or “Grandma, we’re short on groceries.
Just a hundred would help.”
He always sounded so tired and worn down on the phone, like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. I imagined him with sunken eyes, trying to keep his young family afloat.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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