I lay in my bed wondering if there was a reason to be here. The pain surged through my body like tiny knives being thrust into each part of me. I recalled how my late husband always made me feel better. It had only been a few months since he passed away. We had lost our little boy the year before he died. I sat up, slowly, cringing, as I heard my body pop in all the joints. 'Why am I even here?' I thought to myself, glancing over at one of my sons. They did not like to leave me alone because I sometimes needed help to get up. There were times I needed to crawl to the bathroom, but I could not get on my broken knees. Abuse from another had caused this pain. My sweet husband had tried to put a stop to it before he died, and now as I sat on the edge of my bed, I wondered, 'Why me?'

I finally managed to make it to the bathroom, holding onto the wall as I went. It was a good thing the bathroom was attached to my bedroom. I probably could have never made it to the other one. I could hear my grandson laughing in the other room as I locked the bathroom door. He came running to the door as soon as he heard it. I could tell he was leaning his face against the bathroom door as he spoke, "Mamaw, you otay?" This small two-year-old had learned compassion at a very young age. He could speak very clearly for his age.

I did not answer him at first, waiting to hear what he would say next. He asked me if he could come in, but then he corrected himself saying "You on the potty, Mamaw?" He knew when I locked that door now it was usually for that reason. I use to lock it for privacy with my husband because my bedroom runs right into the bathroom and the other door leads to the hall. It was then that he would run and greet me as soon as I unlocked my door. He hated for us to be apart for very long. We had grown very close. He loved his Papa, too, and missed him terribly. He looked for him for weeks after he passed away. Now, as he leaned against the bathroom, whispering to me, I started to cry. I finished up and was washing my face in the sink as I unlocked the door, but the tears still kept falling and I began to sob.

My little two year old grandson, so smart, so sweet, said, almost frantically, "Mom, wha' happened? Wha' happened?" He often called me "MOM". He yelled down the hall to his mother. He ran into her room, ordering her to "Come here, mama, hurry!" She ran toward the bathroom and I tried to wash away my tears, but I was still sobbing.

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