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. Riley was never a bad kid, just headstrong and ambitious, like her mother. She made the cheer squad, had big dreams of going into event planning, and spent hours scrapbooking magazine clippings of celebrity weddings.
One night, when she was about 17, I found her crying on her bed. Her boyfriend had dumped her before prom, and she didn’t want to go alone. I sat beside her and said, “You don’t need a boy to shine.
You already light up every room you walk into.”
She smiled through her tears and whispered, “You’re the only person who really gets me, Grandma.”
Riley became the very center of my world. And as the years went on, I told myself one thing over and over: I don’t have much, but no matter what happens, she will always know she is loved, and if she ever needs me, I will be there. Years passed.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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