Why I live with my grandmother

A couple of years ago, my youngest uncle moved back with my grandmother Elva, after her hip replacement surgery, having spent a decade driving to her house several times a day to check on her. It’s been hard to convince her that she could no longer live alone safely, but I think she understands it now. But, as a former worker in nursing homes (LVN), she never wants to live in one. She says she wants to live in her home until she “sprouts wings and flies away”.

Though my world-traveling uncle has been very kind to my grandmother, he says he never wanted to move back home with his mother. He’s even turned down overseas jobs because there was nobody else to care for her. I’ve spent some of my vacations in recent years visiting my grandma and giving him a break.

About a year ago, my brother-in-law challenged me to pray about moving to St. Louis myself. Even though I’m male and my grandmother is female, at least I was single and unattached and able to relocate. I began to feel an assurance that this was what I needed to do, this was where I belong. So in the summer of 2004, I drove my Honda Civic from Texas to Missouri, the back seat loaded with everything I could fit. I set up my computer in the spare bedroom and moved in. So there you are.

I’ve noticed that people are impressed that I would do this, as if I must be someone special. Oh, it’s hard to be here sometimes, I guess. But when you know where God wants you to be, nothing is too hard. You don’t even think about it.

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