All was forbidden to me until she broke her hip and was forced to rely on me alone. Then everything was reluctantly turned over to my care. I took charge of my grandmother's body and everything in that house. I'd been living alone on and off for a year by the time she returned. I was 12, and finally 13, and the house was now mine. Even still she yelled at me one hundred times a day to let me know how little she regarded my skills. My hands were not capable, my mind was not capable. She was the only one who knew, the only one who had something to contribute. And though my awkward young fingers fed her and bathed her and changed her and soothed her aches and pains and rotated her hip per instruction and tenderly carried her weight from room to room, I was nothing.
Still I persevered, disciplined to care for her as long as I was needed. Where is that tough girl who acted without support, who had to legitimize herself?