Faith: “This is my great-grandmother. She’s raising me. She got temporary custody of me through the court system when I was a baby. My mother is a drug addict and never wanted anything to do with me.”

GG: “Faith is a young teenager. I know she would rather have a young family who could do young activities with her. I used to take her to the park, go down the slide, this and that. I’m 73. I can’t do those things anymore. Sometimes I’m tired. My legs and feet hurt today.”

Faith: “I didn’t feel like sitting around, so we came to the park to enjoy the view.”

GG: “This is our first year to have a vegetable garden. We planted tomatoes, squash, watermelon, beans, cucumbers, and herbs in pots in a little space outside our apartment. Neighbors started helping us and putting gardens in their own tiny places—many of us are too old to dig.”

Faith: “I was raised around old people. She had a barbershop, and the old men would take me out of the crib, feed me a bottle, and bounce me on their knees.”

GG: “I had a barbershop for almost 20 years. But my 96-year-old mom needed a caregiver. I walked away from the barbershop and sold my house to care for her. Faith was living with her great and great-great grandmothers—caring for family is what we do. Push yourself and thank God for another day. Then COVID hit, my mom died, and we started homeschooling. We still feel like we are displaced. It’s hard, but we have times of laughter and lifting each other up. Faith was eating mini colored marshmallows in the car: she sneezed, and marshmallows flew over everything. She looked at me like she was in trouble; I started laughing, then she laughed too.”

Faith: “It’s been a rough year. I was raped 119 days ago. I keep taking pregnancy tests to make sure I’m not pregnant. Some words have crushed me: that didn’t happen; or, you did it to him. The police department asked the wrong questions: What were you wearing? Are you sure it happened? You’re sure you’re not daydreaming or being delusional? It wasn’t a nightmare. I couldn’t walk for three days. My vagina was bruised for two months. Flashbacks make it hard to sleep. I apologize for everything all the time and have gotten good at hiding my emotions. I tried to take my life a couple of times, but it didn’t work.

We want to move closer to the beach. GG has COPD and breathes easier in the salty air. I cry because I know that one day she will be gone, and I’ll be by myself. I don’t know what I’ll do without her, or what will happen to me. I don’t want DHR to swoop me up and put me in a foster home or let somebody else adopt me.

After all of this, I will probably become a therapist. We need more people reassuring kids they will be okay. Maybe my story will convince somebody to be a little nicer.”

(It has been months since this interview, and I have kept in touch with Faith. She is in therapy for PTSD, has an emotional support animal, and is making good grades in a new school. GG says that through all of this, Faith is growing into a leader.)