[Saxophone begins playing] [Griselda Funn] My name is Griselda Carrita Funn. I am that sassy senior. I've lived in Baltimore all of my life. I do the things I do because that's how I was raised. I always tell people education is power. When you know what you're dealing with, you know what to deal with. There's so many things out here, there's so many resources that are available, actually free, that people just don't know about. And that's one of my jobs, to get out there in the public eye and let them know what is available to them. [Saxophone music fades] I grew up in West Baltimore in the same area that I now service, which is cool. Growing up, my mom and I walked everywhere in downtown Baltimore, especially the Howard and Lexington area that had these fine, fancy department stores like Hecht-May Company, Stewart's, Hochschild Kohn's. We could purchase items, but we could not try them on or return them. There was an incident where I attempted to sit at the front counter and my mom snatched me up. We had to sit further back. That's just how it was even in the sixties. We heard of lynching, saw segregation, and experienced racism. It saddens me when I revisit places where I grew up. Where I used to live is a park now. Howard and Lexington Streets are in ruin, and a lot of these places are torn down or boarded up. My daughter Kenya passed away in 2012. She had a tough life as an adult. She had moved back in with me with two of her children. She became a pharmacy technician and was going to college for nursing. She was really getting her life together. One day she asked me to drop her off at a friend's house because they were going to a party. I don't know why it seemed to take us so long to get to her destination, but I think it was meant to be. We had one of the best talks ever. I told her how proud I was of her for making changes in her life. When we got to the house, she said, "See you when I get home, babe." And I watched her from my rearview mirror and said, "She's got her mama's legs," and I smiled. I got a call early in the morning from her ex-husband telling me to come to St. Agnes Hospital because Kenya had passed out. I thought it was her asthma. He said, 'Don't say anything to the kids yet." As I was driving, a voice spoke to me and said, "It may not be asthma this time." As I walked toward the emergency room, I heard someone say, "She was just dancing and then she collapsed." How does all this make a bridge? A lot of my life experience has helped me in this job I have now as a community health worker, such as growing up in West Baltimore, dealing with loss, pushing through hardships with assistance. That's why community health workers are so vital. We supply education, resources, and even simplify medical information, although one of the biggest parts sometimes cannot be measured, a familiar smile or a listening ear. One program we have is to help clients live better with high blood pressure. The first day we sit down with them and get a little history and teach them what high blood pressure is in basic language. We all like a chicken box with salt, pepper, ketchup. If we break it down, we see that the fat and salt content and realize you can't have it every day. We teach good substitutions, healthy choices, as well as advising ways to eliminate bad habits together. I seem to have a story for everything. Sometimes the stories have no words. It's just as simple as an embrace. Everyone calls me Mama. Monika is a medical assistant working at the Community Health Education Center. She is the first one to call me Mama. About a year or so ago into the job on a slow day, my daughter was on my mind a little more than usual. I started talking about Kenya and Monika wanted to hear more about what had happened. Somewhere during the conversation, Monika said, "What did you say? When was it?" She then said, "Oh my God. I was there." The room got quiet. She was actually telling me things other people had told me, but more. I had been waiting for more answers. There was a sense of relief. I had more closure. That sealed our friendship for life. We were in awe of the coincidence. When my daughter passed away, I had so many unanswered questions. It led me to find a different career, which I thought I could not get. A new career led me to a person who had answers to my daughter's passing. As a community health worker, my journey has allowed me to draw from my personal experiences to better serve the city I call home, Baltimore.