My mom was raising me and caring for her mom with Alzheimer's. Our neighbors became our village.

I spent the first years of my life on the brownstone-lined streets of Brooklyn, waking up to the sounds of birds chirping mixed with car horns reverberating throughout the city.

Little did I know that my childhood would take an unexpected turn.

In the middle of first grade, my mom pulled me out of school, packed our suitcases, and moved us across the country to Michigan as my grandma, Lillian, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and needed extra support.

My immediate family is small, just my mom and me, and Michigan felt completely foreign at the time.

My mom always emphasized the importance of building family through community.

With that in mind, she moved us to Great Oak Cohousing, a community designed around the concept of independent living with shared amenities: a common house, an expansive garden, and a variety of gathering spaces, all collaboratively managed by residents.

I fell in love with Great Oak almost immediately.

It unlocked a lifestyle that had been missing in New York: raw nature all around us, the ability to run around independently, and an unmatched sense of community.

We welcomed my grandma into our new home with open arms, picking her up from my aunt Heidi’s house, where she lived during the week, and bringing her to ours for long weekends.

My grandma had visited us in New York when I was a baby, but beyond that, we hadn’t spent much time together.

Almost immediately after the move, we became rascals together, finding many ways to play and get into trouble.

My mom often tells the story of a time we were at our local grocery store.

I was tasked with pushing my grandma in her wheelchair.

Soon after we arrived, we disappeared from my mom’s view.

When she spotted us, I was whisking my grandma up and down the aisles while she stuck her arm out, knocking boxes of cookies off the shelves as we went, the two of us bursting into laughter.

At cohousing, we could sit outside and toss tennis balls around while neighbors strolled by and engaged us in friendly small talk.

We could enjoy our dinner at picnic tables on a warm day.

Everyone knew my grandma, welcomed her, and met her with patience and kindness.

When she had a medical emergency, I called 911 while my mother got the attention of neighbors.

Within minutes, three people rushed into our condo to help, while another stood in the street waiting to direct the ambulance.

In one of the scariest moments of my childhood, we weren’t alone.

A story I often think back to is from a time when we were at a community event, watching a girl play the piano.

Midway through the song, my grandma began singing along in a shrill voice.

Instead of shushing her, the whole community joined in.

What could have been an uncomfortable moment turned into one of joy.

It truly captured what Great Oak meant to us.

My grandma was never treated as a burden or an outsider.

She was simply part of the community.

Still, witnessing her Alzheimer’s brought challenges that, as a young child, I didn’t immediately understand.

I helped her get dressed, enduring a fight or two along the way, and even discovered that I had pretty good reflexes when it came to dodging the occasional flying plate of food.

Despite those challenging moments, I understood that she couldn’t help it.

It was painful to watch her lose her sense of self, and I can only imagine how much harder it was for my mother, who had to watch her own mother struggle in this way.

I often look back at that time through a different lens now that I’m older, specifically from my mother’s perspective.

Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s while raising a young child as a single mother was no easy task.

I have immense admiration for her and for the strength she displayed through it all.

Experiences like these teach you lessons that are difficult to learn anywhere else: patience, unconditional love, sacrifice, and, perhaps most importantly, the power of family.

Caring for my grandma not only brought the two of us closer together, I also grew closer to my aunt, someone I look up to tremendously.

I witnessed the sacrifices she made, opening a bedroom in her Detroit-area home so my grandma could stay during the week.

What could have been a lonely experience became one that was defined by community.

Great Oak became an extended family of our small one, showing me that family isn’t only who you’re born to, but who welcomes you in, stands beside you, and shows up when you need them most.

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