Meet the Team

Welcome to the story about my 3+ years as live-in caregiver for my grandmother. My writing will generally refer to her as Frannie. A month after I move in I was no longer her granddaughter. She saw me as her best friend, worst enemy, and replacement husband. I was anything but favorite granddaughter, like before I moved in. I’ll refer to her as “my person” instead of “loved one.” I stopped loving her when I was in it. Maybe you stopped loving your person too. It’s taken four years after her death for me to understand what we had. It’s why I kept a journal at all, so I wouldn’t beat myself up when it was over. I wrote daily morning notes for myself before I opened my bedroom door. She would be sitting at the kitchen table with coffee. If the sun wasn’t shining I was greeted with, “It’s going to be a miserable day.” My logo here is a cleaned up version of a jar of pickles I drew for my nephew. I wrote, “Today I made pickles with G.G.”