This is a story. A story that starts when I was just five years old. A little lady who lived down the street.

She was an old lady. Grey hair, sagging skin. Veins picking out.

She never seemed to get older as years passed though. Here I am today, and there she is still. Planting her flowers and baking cookies.

She sometimes acts weird though. Like she'll disappear for a few days, only to come back looking as normal as ever.

This little lady is my grandma. She may not be little in age, she she is little in size. She always brings me cookies for school, and sometimes I help her make them.

She my dads mom. The best grandma ever. She's almost too nice. But I don't question that. Grandmas are grandmas.

She like a best friend to me as well. When I'm especially hurt, she invited me over and we play board games into the night.

Sometimes I hear weird sounds when I'm over there. But that adds to the aura of the house if you ask me.

She always loves to help people. She says she's helped many people. Taking people from one place who have nothing else, and moving them to a new home where they can work their way to a better life.

She's never explained what that meant, but I'm guessing she's just old. Old people are like that.

Anyway, I love her so much. And I'm so glad she's here for me when dad snaps, or when he just goes to far. When I can't hold myself in. We all have those crappy days.

She just fixes them like magic.

But hey, that's what grandmas do, right?