I am 82 years old, live in a 12-square-meter room, and have 4 children, 11 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren.
I don’t have a house or luxury possessions anymore, but I do have a housekeeper who will clean my room, make my supper and bed, check my blood pressure, and weigh me.
My grandchildren no longer make me laugh, and I no longer witness their development or witness them hugging or fighting. Some people visit me every 15 days, while others only do so once every three to four months.
I no longer work, bake cakes, or work in the garden during the winter. I still enjoy reading, although it hurts my eyes after a while.
I’m not sure how much longer, but I need to adjust to being alone. I oversee group projects at home and try to aid others who are less fortunate than me.
I used to read aloud to a woman who could not move in the room next to me. We also used to sing together, but she passed away recently.
Life, so they say, is getting longer. Why? I can look at my family’s pictures and the memories I brought from home when I’m alone myself. That’s all there is.
I hope that future generations would see that families are created with the intention of having children and that they never stop caring for one another, even as they get older.
Please refrain from showing this to my kids.
You are loved by Grandma Maria.