My name is Rachel Griffin. Most of you will know my mother, Amy Corrigan. She taught elementary school, mostly kindergarten, for 30 years—most of it spent at Duncan Creek Elementary in Gwinnett, a career she put her heart and soul into.

Two years ago, in December, Amy spent ten days in the hospital and was diagnosed with a memory disorder that has left her with no short-term memory and other troubles with cognition. She isn't allowed to drive, and she can't live alone. What came after was a whirlwind of change—my husband and I decided that ultimately, the best plan was to build a home designed with the idea in mind that Mom could live with us while still retaining some independence. We had to sell our first home, then hers, and move into a rental for the duration of the build.

Now, with building several months behind schedule, our house is almost done—but we will have to finish out the lower level on our own for Mom as soon as possible. We've had to pay rent longer than expected and increased construction interest, and all the quotes I'm getting for finishing off her space are out of the scope of what we can pay. We all know the world has changed a bit since we started this plan, leading to some struggles beyond our control.

For me to continue being her caregiver and to give Mom a nice, safe space to live that provides her some measure of independence, we need a little help. I hate asking for it—I've taken care of her for two years now without asking for help. But if even half the people whose lives she's made an impact on gave a dollar, we'd be able to build her such a beautiful space to call her own.

She doesn't know I'm doing this—in her moments of awareness of what's going on, she tends to feel ashamed that she needs help. But it would be such a nice surprise to put as much love as possible into her new home, with just a little bit of help.