My grandparents helped raise me, and they were the strongest and most consistent support system I ever knew. There are very few memories in my life that don’t include them in some way. Birthdays, chorus concerts, graduations, and even school field trips—my Papaw was there for all of it. He owned the school buses and would intentionally assign himself as the driver for my class, just so he could be part of my world. There was truly nothing better than spending the weekend at Mamaw and Papaw’s house. Whatever stress or trouble followed me throughout the week seemed to fade the moment I walked through their door.
If I close my eyes, I can still see my Mamaw Irene standing in the kitchen, wrapped in her housecoat, finishing up fried chicken in the Fry Daddy. I can hear the familiar rattle of the pressure cooker’s wobbler as green beans—ones she had carefully canned herself—finished cooking. I can still taste the sweet tea she brewed earlier in the day, always perfectly made. And if I let my mind drift just a little further, I can almost smell my Papaw’s aftershave as I hugged him tightly. Today, those moments exist only in memory. As I grew older, so did they, and time began to change everything.
In 2016, my grandmother called me and asked if I could take my grandfather to the doctor because he wasn’t acting right. By the time I arrived—no more than ten minutes later—he had gone into a full stroke. His eyes were moving in different directions, his body was swelling, and he was trying to speak while insisting I not call 911. He didn’t want to disturb the neighbors with an ambulance. My mom and grandmother were in the room as this unfolded. I held him firmly so he wouldn’t try to stand while calling 911. Though it was probably only five minutes, it felt like forever before the ambulance arrived. Once he was secure, I held my grandmother as she cried and reassured her that everything would be okay, promising I would stay by his side.
The next 48 hours were critical. After a week in the hospital and 30 days in a rehabilitation facility, he was finally able to return home. He was never quite the same, but he returned to what could be considered normal for an 87-year-old. For a while, life felt steady again. Little did I know, this was only the beginning of both of my grandparents’ decline.
In 2017, my grandmother fell and fractured vertebrae in her back. She recovered, but it became clear that her needs had surpassed what we could manage at home. She made the difficult decision to move into a skilled care facility. My grandfather soon followed. By what I can only describe as God’s grace, an empty room opened up, allowing them to be reunited. It felt like home again—only now they had the round-the-clock care they needed. The staff loved my Mamaw and Papaw as if they were their own, and for that, I will always be grateful.
Life changed in ways we never expected. Holidays no longer included large family gatherings or Mamaw’s home-cooked meals. Instead, I cooked, and we rented a room so we could sit together at the table. Every holiday, my mom and I decorated their room. I vividly remember picking out their Christmas tree in 2017. It was decorated with care and received countless compliments. It felt like a small victory—a success during a season of change.
On Christmas Day, my mom and I walked in carrying armloads of presents, just like we always did. As we walked down the hallway, I noticed residents sitting outside their rooms, quietly searching for something to ease the loneliness. It was an eye-opening moment. When we entered my grandparents’ room, we discovered gifts already waiting for them—delivered by the Elks Lodge. I was stunned. Somehow, they knew my grandmother wanted a CD player, something she had never asked for, and my grandfather received pants and socks. Later, I learned they had filled out a questionnaire. The moment hit me hard, and tears filled my eyes.
My first thought was how incredibly kind and thoughtful the gesture was. My second thought stopped me cold: What about the seniors who don’t have family—or who aren’t veterans? Do they receive gifts, too? That question sparked something bigger than I could have imagined. That is how my partnership with Home Instead, LLC began. Over the next three years, we collected, wrapped, and delivered more than 2,400 gifts to local senior citizens.
In 2019, I lost both of my grandparents. I was still grieving when COVID-19 shut down nursing homes across the country. Seniors were suddenly isolated, depressed, and cut off from loved ones. Many weren’t tech-savvy, didn’t have phones, or didn’t have family at all. I knew I had to do something. The answer was simple: send love the old-fashioned way—through snail mail. We began collecting cards from local community members to deliver to local facilities. The response was overwhelming. News stations picked it up, people kept sharing, and encouragement poured in. I knew it had grown into something special when cards started arriving from Hawaii, then New York City.
In August of 2020, I was honored as a “Hometown Hero.” I was humbled, grateful, and riding a wave of momentum—but nothing could have prepared me for what came next. On August 17th, I learned I would be featured on the Facebook Watch show Returning the Favor, hosted by Mike Rowe. The experience was unforgettable. My entire support system—family, friends, and my hometown—surprised me. And I believe, with all my heart, that my grandparents were looking down on me that day.
My life has completely changed because of #SendSeniorCitizensLove. I’ve met incredible people, pushed myself beyond limits I never thought possible, and most importantly, I’ve helped bring joy to those who need it most. What started locally has now expanded across the United States and into Ireland, Canada, and England. I plan to continue this mission until I am a senior citizen myself. I live by this truth every day: “To care for those who once cared for us is one of the highest honors.”
