Old people do that. Old people.
Only old people would do that.
Only old people would care.
Only old people would give the time of day.
Only old people…

I guess I should start at the beginning, I never did respect old people. I used to think that they were just dusty humans who didn’t deserve to be hogging up resources when there were children around the world were shelterless and starving. I used to think that the old couldn’t change anything anymore in the world when they couldn’t even walk on their own. And most importantly, I used to think that if you couldn’t change the world for others, that there was no point of living.

But that all changed on a busy afternoon. I had to go to the senior center the visit my grandmother. I complained, I cried, I tried everything so I wouldn’t have to go but my mother didn’t budge. “Respect your elders.” She said. I never understood that saying.

I ended up going, but I definitely wasn’t happy about it. All people do at senior centers are take care of the old and worthless. There really is no point. All they were doing is trying to delay the undelayable. Death.
While I was walking towards my grandmother’s room, I passed by a room with a family mourning beside a bed. I knew what happened but I shrugged it off. At least they don’t have to waste their time and money on something that cannot be changed.

When I got to my grandmother, I was stunned by the amount of cards and flowers in her room. They seemed to be from the youngest of kids who couldn’t spell correctly to the oldest of friends thanking her for all she has done. I knew she was getting closer to death every day but she wasn’t close enough that people would care that much.

My mother went up to my grandmother and kissed each of her wrinkly old cheeks. I just stood there awkwardly until my mother gave me that look that every mother has. “You know what you have to do and you better do it or you I promise you will regret it” her face clearly read. I walked up to my grandmother to give her the hug I knew my mother expected when a little boy that looked around three or four years old came running into the room to my grandmother.

“Look, look!” He said holding a piece of paper with a drawing of a boy holding hands with a woman in a wheelchair. He seemed to be oblivious to the other people in the room. Then, pointing to the picture, he said, “That’s you and me grandma!” I was shocked. Did I have a cousin I didn’t know about?

“That’s wonderful Timothy!” My grandmother said with a big smile.

Moments later, a woman came rushing into the room. Panting, she said “Timothy. I know you wanted to show her your drawing, but you really didn’t have to run all the way here! I really don’t understand how those two little legs could be so fast!”

My grandmother introduced everyone to each other and we started to talk. I learnt that Timothy was an orphan whose parents died in a car crash and the woman, Loretta, whose name literally means pure and love, was the woman taking care of him until the right family offers to adopt him. In the short time we talked, I learnt a lot about my grandmother. She has been volunteering as a foster grandmother (AND: this is a real thing. http://www.nationalservice.gov/programs/senior-corps/foster-grandparents) for 8 kids, who Timothy was part of, who don’t have the opportunity to have real grandparents.

After a while, Timothy and Loretta had to leave and my mother got a call and left first. My grandmother and I talked for a while more. She told me that a new study shows that kids with foster grandparents experience less depression.

I realized the time and started to get together my things. As I was walking out of the room, my grandmother called out, “Sam.” I stopped in my tracks. “I know that you don’t visit much and you think that we seniors are a waste of time, energy, and space but I am trying my best. I volunteer so that the next generations will have better lives. I know I can’t do much but I really am trying my best.”

I turned to her with tear filled eyes. I ran to her sobbing and embraced her into a gigantic hug. “I’m sorry” I said over and over.

“I’m sorry”