Your mother would be proud of you. — A Friend
My caseworkers assumed it was a church program. My foster mothers assumed it was a relative who didn’t want responsibility. I assumed it was a mistake that would eventually stop.
It never stopped. Not once in fifteen years.
When I aged out of foster care, the cards ended. But that same summer, I received a letter from a community foundation telling me I’d been selected for something called the D.H. Opportunity Grant. Two thousand dollars. No application needed.
That money paid for my certified nursing assistant course.
That’s what I’ve done ever since. I’m a CNA at an assisted living facility on the east side of town. I work 7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., five days a week. I help people shower, eat, walk, and remember their children’s names.
I’m good at it. I’m good at taking care of people.
