I love old people…I love taking care of old people, especially the ones that have dementia. It’s like taking care of large babies, but better. These babies have experienced life and can actually carry on a conversation, while smaller babies just stare at me and cry. I keep trying to tell people that you either like babies or you like old people and you won’t see me trying to hang out with babies.
I started in home care again tonight since moving to Maine and the moment me and my elderly client started talking it felt like I was at peace in my soul…the last time I felt this way was a year ago when I walked into a lab for the first time since graduating college…it’s funny how as you get older you start to learn the things that feed your soul and the peace that comes with it. I never knew that when I started this line of work 5 years ago that I would still be doing it to this day, but here I am and for some reason I can’t convince myself to leave.
I don’t want a big girl job you see…I haven’t been able to find the same fulfillment I feel taking care of an old ass man that thinks it’s 1952 and randomly pisses on the floor occasionally…strange but it’s just my niche of work. This job makes me feel good…it makes me feel like I have a purpose in the world and that I’m making some sort of difference, which I direly need as a 24-year-old who has no idea what she’s doing most days.
It’s the beauty of walking into a house where they lived the majority of their lives. A house scattered with pictures all across the walls, the smell of warm apples and cinnamon coming from the kitchen, and The Andy Griffith Show playing in the background…you can’t beat it…it’s like sitting in the middle of history and I get to be in the ending of it. A perpetual highlight reel that I could watch all day.