They say life's a rollercoaster ride, and honey, I can surely testify to that.

I've lived for about 74 years and five months now, and during this time, I've seen my fair share of ups and downs.

One day, life's great. Everything's goin' according to your wishes, and the next, somethin' happens that crushes your entire world down.

But you gotta keep swimmin'. You gotta keep goin' with the flow. That's what life is, y'all. That's what life is all about.

No matter how old you are, you'll still have somethin' to worry about. Somethin' that keeps you goin'.

My name's Martha, and I spent most of my life bein' a mother to my three children. Betty is my oldest, Thomas is my middle child, and Sarah… she's my baby girl.

Lord knows I gave 'em everything I had.

Every birthday, every Christmas, every scrape and bruise, I was there with open arms and a ready smile. Their daddy and I worked ourselves to the bone to make sure they had opportunities we never did.

We weren't rich by any means, but we managed to put all three through college. Lord, I still remember the day each one of 'em walked across that stage. Me sittin' there in the crowd, dabbin' at my eyes with a handkerchief, heart just about ready to pop from pride.

But as they grew up, got married, and had families of their own, I noticed they started havin' less and less time for me. The phone calls that used to come daily became weekly, then monthly.

The Sunday dinners at my house dwindled down to just holiday visits. And when my grandkids came along (seven of 'em, if you can believe it), well, they were even busier.

"Mom, we've got soccer practice," Betty would say.

"Mom, Thomas Jr. has a recital," Thomas would explain.

"Mom, work is just crazy right now," Sarah would sigh.

I understood. I really did. Life moves on, and young folks have their own lives to lead. Then the great-grandkids started arrivin'. Now, they're three little blessings I barely know.

When my Harold passed away six years ago, that's when things really changed. For two years, I tried to manage on my own in that big empty house we'd shared for nearly fifty years.

But after the second fall, when I laid on the kitchen floor for hours before the neighbor found me, my children decided it was time for the nursin' home.

"It's for the best, Mom," they all agreed. "You'll have people to look after you."

What they meant was that they didn't have time to look after me themselves.

I've been here at this nursin' home for four years now.

When I first arrived, I was scared half to death. My room was tiny compared to the house I'd left behind.

Those first few months, I cried myself to sleep most nights.

But slowly, things changed. I met Gladys from down the hall, who taught me to play bridge. Then there was Eleanor, who shared my love for murder mysteries, and Dotty, who'd sneak in homemade cookies when her daughter visited.

We became a little family of our own. All of us abandoned in one way or another by the children we'd raised.

My kids and their families? They barely visited. Less than five times in four years, if you can believe it. Sometimes they'd call on birthdays or holidays, but most often it was just a card in the mail.

I didn't mind. It's just how life is, right? At least that's what I told myself whenever I saw other residents with visitors while I sat alone.