I’ve always believed that love is shown through actions, not just words. But when my granddaughter banned me from her wedding after I sold my house to help fund it, I had to remind her what real family means. I’m 72 years old, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years, it’s that love isn’t just what you feel, it’s what you do.
Sadly, this was a lesson I had to teach my granddaughter when she tried to take advantage of my kindness.
My name is Martha, and my whole world has always revolved around two people: my daughter, Angela, and later, my granddaughter, Riley. I raised Angela by myself after my husband, Bill, died in a factory accident when she was only four.
I worked as a public librarian in a small town all my life. It wasn’t glamorous, and it sure didn’t pay much, but I loved the books and the people.
After my husband’s death, I learned how to make every penny count.
I clipped coupons like it was an Olympic sport, saved every penny, and could stretch a casserole to feed six. Angela never went without, not if I could help it. When Riley was born, I thought I understood love, but that little girl taught me there’s always room for more.
Angela was a single mom too, working two jobs and doing her best, but I stepped in wherever I could.
See, from the moment Angela was born, I dedicated every breath to giving her the best life I could. So, I helped take Riley to preschool, sewed her Halloween costumes, and made birthday cakes shaped like castles and dinosaurs, whatever she wanted.
I even babysat so my daughter could work. I was the grandma with Band-Aids in her purse and quarters for the gumball machines.
Then came the second-worst day of my life.
Angela passed suddenly from a brain aneurysm. She was only 42. One minute we were laughing over morning coffee, the next I was at the hospital, staring at monitors that wouldn’t stop beeping.
I can’t even describe that kind of pain.
It’s like the world cracked open and swallowed me whole. Riley was 15 at the time.
She didn’t understand why life had to be so cruel, and honestly, neither did I. In one night, I lost my child, my best friend, and my closest companion.
The grief was unbearable, but I had no choice except to keep going.
My granddaughter was all I had left, and she needed me. I vowed that I would raise her with the same love her mama would have given her. I became her legal guardian, and we leaned on each other through grief and growing pains.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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