For years she was offended if we hired anyone else. What am I, a stranger, bring me my grandson. Then one Thursday I asked whether Theo could stay after school and she said sure, and then, lightly, that I should bring fifty five dollars. I laughed. She did not. Cash, always, whether he was there ninety minutes or five hours. The night of the wedding I only had a hundred and she went into her bedroom and came back with forty five in change while my son slept under the same faded blue blanket I slept under at his age. I told my husband I would rather pay a real sitter. We kept Theo away for four weeks. She phoned twice. When I finally said yes, I was angry about the money, she asked me not to stop bringing him, and when I said then stop charging us, she said she could not.

Not would not. Could not. She had been diagnosed in January. Early stage, the neurologist told her, but the word was on the paperwork and she had read every page. She had decided she would not be the grandmother who fell asleep with a child in the house and nothing in place, so she was paying a woman named Constance from her old church to sit in the kitchen every single time Theo came over, and Constance charged fifty five dollars, cash, and my mother had been covering the shortfall out of her pension for eleven weeks before she ran out.