While my younger brother, Deacon, coasted through life—dropping out of college, yet still getting rewarded with a brand-new car “for his potential”—I was working double shifts, putting myself through nursing school, and folding laundry no one ever thanked me for.
No one reached out.
Except Grandma Esme.
A Lifeline in a Voicemail
She didn’t have much money. But what she gave me was far more valuable: unshakable belief.
Sometimes it was an envelope with a few dollars tucked inside. Sometimes a voicemail reminding me I was seen, that I mattered.
I saved those messages. Played them on the nights when exhaustion turned to tears. They were my lifeline.
