They all thought I was done for—a frail old lady with one foot in the grave. But folks don’t always see the fire still burnin’ inside. When I overheard my own children talkin’ about my headstone like I was already six feet under, I knew it was time to remind ’em who I really am.

There’s a difference between bein’ kind and bein’ weak. I’ve always been gentle, maybe too forgivin’, but that don’t mean I don’t have a backbone. That day, I made up my mind: I still got plenty of fight left.

Seventy-four years and countin’. I’ve laughed till I cried, and cried till I laughed. Lost folks I loved, found strength I didn’t know I had. Life’s been tough, but it made me tougher. You don’t make it this far without takin’ punches and learnin’ to swing back.

Growin’ older humbles you—your body slows, but your spirit sharpens. Sometimes, you realize folks never really saw you. Hearin’ my kids talk like I was gone wasn’t just hurtin’, it was motivatin’. So here I am—still standin’, still smilin’, and stronger than they ever knew.

Life’s a bumpy ride, but I’ve still got my hands on the wheel.