When I first started working at the nursing home, I thought I was there to help people who had nowhere else to go.
I never imagined that one of the residents had been waiting for me long before I ever walked through the door.
The home was small and quiet, with faded wallpaper, narrow hallways, and the constant scent of lemon cleaner mixed with warm tea and old paperbacks
After a year of working there as an orderly, it had begun to feel more like home than most places I had known.
I grew up in foster care.
That kind of childhood teaches you to recognize kindness in small things.
A cup of coffee left waiting for you.
Someone remembering your birthday.
A person asking how you are and actually waiting for the answer.
The nursing home had plenty of those moments.
But most of the residents barely noticed me when I first arrived.
