Elizabeth Howard came up with a word because she needed one that didn’t exist. She calls her older sister her ‘sister-mom.’
“There wasn’t another word for her,” she says with a laugh. “She was my sister first, and then she became my mom. So I put it together. Every time I called her that, she would cry.” That name says a lot about how Elizabeth sees family. For her, family isn’t just about biology. It’s about the people who show up, choose you, and make sure you never have to face life alone.
Elizabeth grew up on Detroit’s east side as the youngest of several children. Her mother struggled with alcoholism, so many mornings Elizabeth got herself ready for school, not always sure if her mom had come home the night before. When Elizabeth was thirteen, her older sister decided things had to change. She went to court, took custody of Elizabeth, and raised her as her own daughter. “Only God knows where my life would’ve ended up if I didn’t have her,” Elizabeth says. “Who knows where I would’ve been?”
But Elizabeth doesn’t dwell on the past. Instead, she looks ahead.
She talks about her children, her grandchildren, and the people she meets on the bus each morning. It quickly becomes clear that Elizabeth has spent much of her life doing for others what her sister once did for her, making sure no one feels alone. Years ago, that instinct was tested in a hard way.
Elizabeth had built a life for her family on Detroit’s east side, but their apartment became overrun with mice. She called her landlord many times, hoping the problem would be fixed before it got worse. It wasn’t, and soon the infestation made the apartment unlivable. For Elizabeth, leaving wasn’t just about finding a new place to live. It was about keeping her children safe.
She packed what she could into storage, arranged for her children to stay temporarily with family and friends, and walked to the nearest shelter. “I just told them, ‘I need somewhere to go. I have nowhere to go, and I’m homeless.’”
The first shelter wasn’t a place where Elizabeth could remain. Overcrowded conditions and ongoing pest problems intensified the anxiety she was already carrying and left her feeling unsafe. Then, one day, someone from COTS came to speak with residents about other housing options. Elizabeth shared what she was experiencing and hoped there might be another path forward.
She still remembers what happened next. “They packed my stuff up, put it in their car, and said, ‘Get everything. Come on. Let’s go.” That evening, with COTS’s help, she moved into 26 Peterboro. She never learned the name of the person who helped her that day. “I love them for it,” she says simply.
Now, Elizabeth lives in Garden City, not far from her old neighborhood. She smiles when she talks about her apartment and the two cars she owns outright. “Cash cars,” she says proudly. The phrase makes her laugh. They’re dependable and fully paid off. For Elizabeth, they mean something more important than looks; they represent stability.
When you ask Elizabeth what she’s most proud of, she quickly shifts the focus away from herself. She talks about her daughter, who also got help from COTS after facing homelessness and is now raising Elizabeth’s grandchildren while working full-time. She mentions her oldest granddaughter, the first in the family to go to college, who recently joined Alpha Kappa Alpha. She talks about her younger grandchildren with the warmth of someone who knows each child’s interests and dreams. “There are eight of them,” she says, smiling as she begins naming them one by one. To her, each grandchild is part of a story that’s still unfolding. “Not only did COTS help me,” she says. “They helped my daughter, too.”
Elizabeth likes to share what she has with others, and that instinct shows up in small ways. When COTS shared information about employment opportunities, she took the flyers home. One eventually helped her son find a part-time job. He had been skeptical at first, she says, but that changed once he saw what COTS made possible. “I told him, ‘See? COTS ended up helping you through the resources they gave me that I gave to you.’”
That same caring instinct shows up in the little things she does. Every morning, she rides the bus carrying two bottles of water. One is for her. The other is for the driver. “You don’t always know when they can stop and get something to drink,” she says. She keeps candy in her purse for people she sees often. Sometimes she brings an extra bag of chips. When she gets off the bus, she often gives the driver’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Ms. Howard, you always have something sweet for me,” she’ll say. “And I tell her, ‘That’s because you’re sweet.’” For
Elizabeth, these aren’t big gestures. They’re just the kinds of things people should do for each other.
Every morning, before she gets out of bed, she kneels to pray. “Lord, give us strength to make it through this day. Whatever comes our
way, just give us the strength to make it through. And at the end of the day, let it be a blessing.”
She hopes to visit Niagara Falls one day. She almost went once, but the money she saved ended up helping someone else instead. “I’m still going,” she says. “It’s in my head.”
But her biggest dream isn’t about travel. It’s about a home. She wants to own a home. It’s not because she needs more space or always wanted to own a home. She wants all eight of her grandchildren’s names tied to something that will last beyond her. “So they won’t have that feeling of homelessness,” she says. “So they’ll always know they have somewhere to go.” That may sound like she’s just talking about housing. But Elizabeth means something much bigger.
For Elizabeth, home has never just meant four walls. It was her sister choosing to become her mother. It was someone from COTS loading her things into a car and making sure she wasn’t left behind. It’s her granddaughter being the first in the family to go to college. It’s the bus driver who looks forward to seeing her each morning. It’s a handful of candy, an extra bottle of water, a quiet prayer before sunrise, and those four kind words to a stranger.
For Elizabeth Howard, home is something we create in each other, one caring act at a time.
You’re invited to tune in and hear more of Elizabeth’s story on The Art of Family Podcast. https://bit.ly/SpotifyPcasts-AoF