I used to believe that when you raised a child with love, that love would come back to you when you needed it.
I was seventy-four when I learned that wasn't always true.
And I learned it sitting at my son's kitchen table, looking at a number written on a napkin.
Seven hundred dollars.
That was what my son and his wife wanted me to pay every month to live in the little room above their garage.
Seven hundred dollars, plus five days of childcare every week.
I remember looking at the napkin for a long time.
Marlee had written the amount in large numbers and circled it twice.
She held her pen between her fingers, waiting for me to agree.
My son, Hugh, sat beside her.
He had a cup of coffee in front of him.
He wasn't drinking it.
He was looking down at the table.
"Seven hundred is really reasonable, Mama," Marlee said.
She spoke in the cheerful voice she used whenever she wanted something to sound like a favor.
"Most places around here cost a whole lot more."
I nodded.
I wasn't sure what else to do.
Then she leaned forward.
"And you'll be able to help with the children during the week. That makes the arrangement fair for everybody."
I looked at her.
"What kind of help?"
She smiled.
"You know. Watching them while we're working. Monday through Friday."
I glanced at Hugh.
He moved his coffee cup a little.
"Just during the day," he said.
Just.
That little word stayed with me.
Three children.
Five weekdays.
Every week.
I had worked as a nurse for forty years.
I had spent most of my adult life caring for people who couldn't care for themselves.
I had helped patients bathe, changed beds, carried supplies, and stayed late when somebody needed an extra pair of hands.
I knew what caring for children involved.
It wasn't something you did casually because somebody had decided your rent should include it.
But I didn't say that.
Not then.
Instead, I placed my hands together on the table.
"Would you mind showing me the room before I make a decision?"
Marlee's smile widened.
"Of course, Mama. You'll love it."
I followed her out of the kitchen.
Hugh stayed behind.
I noticed that, too.
The garage was attached to the side of the house.
A narrow outdoor staircase led to the room above it.
Marlee walked ahead of me, talking about how convenient everything would be.
She said I would have my own space.
She said I could come and go without bothering anybody.
She said the children would love having Grandma so close.
I held the railing as I climbed.
The steps were steep.
My knees weren't what they had been twenty years earlier, and I had to take my time.
At the top, Marlee unlocked the door.
"Here we are!"
I stepped inside.
The room was small.
Smaller than I had imagined from the way she described it.
There was one little window.
A window unit sat beneath it, rattling whenever it started.
A card table stood against the wall with a hot plate on top.
I looked around.
There wasn't much else to see.
The ceiling seemed lower than it should have.
The room smelled faintly of gasoline and the things people kept in garages.
I tried not to wrinkle my nose.
Marlee watched me.
"It's cozy," she said.
I nodded slowly.
I didn't want to insult her.
But I also couldn't pretend the room was something it wasn't.
My grandson Augie had followed us upstairs.
He stood near the doorway, looking from the hot plate to the little window.
Then he looked at me.
"Grandma, do you have to sleep up here with that funny garage smell?"
I almost laughed.
Children had a way of saying things adults spent years trying to avoid.
I bent slightly toward him.
"Looks like I'll have to get used to it if I stay."
He didn't seem convinced.
Neither was I.
Marlee touched the edge of the card table.
"We could put a little shelf over here. And maybe a chair in that corner."
I looked at the hot plate.
"What about cooking?"
"Oh, simple things. Nothing that makes too much smoke or smells."
I turned toward her.
"Would I have a regular kitchen?"
She paused.
"Well, not in here. You can use ours sometimes, of course."
Sometimes.
Another little word.
I walked over to the window.
It was so small that I couldn't imagine getting much sunlight through it.
The window unit rattled again.
I thought about my old duplex.
Two rooms.
A small kitchen.
A living room where my husband used to sit after supper.
Real windows.
A front door I could open without asking anybody's permission.
I had lived there for twenty-two years.
Twenty-two years was a long time to call one place home.
I had never imagined I would have to leave it.
But the owner had died the previous spring.
His children sold the property to a man who planned to tear the building down.
I had been given until the first of the month to move.
There wasn't much room for arguing.
I was seventy-four, and suddenly I was looking at apartments with people half my age deciding whether I could afford them.
I looked back at Marlee.
"How much did you say?"
"Seven hundred."
"And that's every month?"
"Yes, Mama."
I nodded.
Then I asked the question I should have asked at the kitchen table.
"Does that include the childcare?"
Marlee gave a little laugh.
"Oh, don't think of it that way."
I didn't answer.
She continued.
"We're family. We all help each other. You'll be right there when the kids need you."
I looked at the little room again.
The hot plate.
The rattling air conditioner.
The tiny window.
Then I thought about my Social Security check.
One thousand four hundred and eighty dollars.
Seven hundred would leave me with seven hundred and eighty dollars for everything else.
Food.
Medicine.
Gasoline.
Clothes.
The little expenses that never stopped coming.
And I would still be responsible for three children during the workweek.
I didn't need a calculator.
I could see the problem clearly.
Still, I thanked Marlee for showing me around.
She seemed pleased.
We went downstairs together.
Hugh was still at the kitchen table.
He looked up when we entered.
"Well?"
I took my purse from the chair.
"I need a little time to think."
Marlee waved her hand.
"Of course. Just don't wait too long. We need to know what we're doing."
I smiled.
"I'll pray on it."
That was all I said.
But something inside me had already begun to change.
Click here to continue reading: PART 2: I Sat Alone in My Old Chevrolet Counting My Money, and Suddenly Realized What My Own Family Expected Me to Pay
My Son Offered Me a Place to Live, but the Price He Put on My Independence Was Something I Never Expected
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