17.

That's how old my great-grandmother was when she came ashore on the East coast of America.

A family back in Ireland was depending on her.

To survive.

To establish herself.

To send back what she could to those she'd left behind.

To thrive.

Can you imagine making that trip, across an entire ocean, aboard vessels that not too long beforehand had been nicknamed coffin ships? Surely their memories haunted her over waves and throughout the sickening storms of the sea.

To arrive in a foreign country and find yourself at your own mercy.

To be ridiculed for your culture.

To be thought of as less than at every turn.

But to work hard and succeed no matter the prejudices of others.

To have 5 children and love them with all of your heart.

To lose one at the tender age of her 4th year, but to make sure the remaining children not only lived, but when on to graduate University with advanced degrees.

To raise their own families of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in love.

That's what she did.

From 17.

My great-grandmother.

Thank you, Nora.