I was six years old when I lost my parents.
The days that followed were dark, filled with adults whispering about the drunk driver who had killed them and debating what they were going to do with me.
The words "foster care" were circulating in the house. The idea terrified me. I thought I was going to be sent away forever.
But Grandfather saved me.
I thought I was going to
to be sent away forever.
Sixty-five years old, tired, already struggling with back and knee pain, he strode into the living room where all the adults were whispering about my fate and slammed his hand on the coffee table.
"She's coming with me. End of story."
From that moment on, Grandpa became my whole world.
"She's coming with me."
The end of the story.
Grandpa gave me his big room and took the smallest one for himself. He learned how to braid my hair on YouTube, made my lunch every day, and attended all the school plays and parent-teacher meetings.
He was my hero and my inspiration.
"Grandpa, when I grow up, I want to be a social worker so I can save children like you saved me," I told him when I was ten years old.
He was my hero.
He hugged me so tightly that I thought my ribs were going to crack.
" You can be anything you want, my child. Absolutely anything."
But the truth is, we never had much.
No family trips, no takeout, and none of those "just because" gifts that other kids seemed to get. As I grew up, I noticed a disturbing pattern emerging in my life with Grandpa.
As I grew up, I noticed a disturbing pattern emerging in my life with my grandfather.
"Grandpa, can I have a new outfit?" I asked. "All the children at school are wearing these brand-name jeans, and I want a pair."
"We can't afford that, little one."
C'était sa réponse à chaque demande de quelque chose en plus. Je détestais cette phrase plus que tout au monde.
Je me suis mise en colère contre lui parce qu'il disait toujours NON.
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