CLIENT LOG.
Day 1. Wake up stiff. Same pain in my hips. Same ache in my hands. House smells like old coffee grounds and lavender soap. Never thought I’d live alone this long. Thought he’d be back by now. Thought the kids would visit more.
Try to get up from the toilet. Legs shake. Arms useless. Wonder if today’s the day I fall and no one finds me until tomorrow.
He comes in. Quiet. Helps me stand. Pulls my pants up. Doesn’t say much. Doesn’t flinch. I don’t thank him. Can’t. Words get stuck somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
I don’t mind.
Day 3. Try to shower alone. Slipped once last year. Bruised half my body. Took weeks to heal. I wobble forward. Water pounding my back. Knee buckles.
He catches me. Hands strong but gentle. Holds me up like I weigh nothing. I feel small and heavy all at once. Look at him. Wonder what he thinks, seeing me like this. Wonder if he sees the old woman or remembers I was young once.
His eyes don’t judge.
Day 5. He washes my hair. Warm water runs down my face. For a moment, it’s like when my mother bathed me as a child. Safe. Clean. Human again.
I say, “Feels so nice.” Voice sounds far away. Like it belongs to someone else. Like it’s a sound I forgot I could make.
And in that moment… something lifts.
Because here he is. Showing up. Helping me stand. Helping me eat. Helping me stay warm and clean when I can’t do it myself. It isn’t glamorous. No one sees it. But it keeps me alive. Keeps me here, in this house, in this life, for one more day.
Every day, I see the difference.
Every day, the fear lessens. The fear of being alone. The fear of slipping away without anyone noticing. And for the first time in a long time, I think – maybe this world isn’t so cruel after all. Maybe he’s proof of that.
I know he doesn’t think he’s much. But to me, he is everything. Because when he walks in, I remember I still exist. I still matter. I am still here.
The world is still broken. But when he’s here, it feels a little less hopeless.
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