Your audio-and-text option:
Listen to Burt’s story as you read it (below).
“Absolutely not.” Burt’s voice was as firm as the oak coffee table he clung to. “I don’t need a babysitter, Joyce. I can get my own glass of water.”
Joyce stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed. The stroke had left Burt with a stubbornness that was new and a balance that was not. A few weeks of close calls, of almost-falls and near-misses with the stove top, had made it clear: they needed help.
But Burt saw a care assistant as an admission of defeat. He saw a stranger intruding on their space, on their routine, on their life.
The agency sent a woman named Mary. She was in her late 40s. She had a warm, quiet way about her.
On her first day, Burt refused to even look at her. He sat in his armchair, a book open on his lap, ignoring her as she moved about the kitchen. He could feel her presence, the gentle way she organized their dishes and wiped down the counters, but he pretended she was invisible.
Mary, however, seemed to be not easily discouraged. She spoke to Burt not as a patient but as a person.
“Mr. Peterson,” she said, her voice soft but clear, “I was just thinking about that book you’re reading. Is it a mystery? I’ve always been a fan of a good whodunit.”
Burt grunted. He didn’t answer.
But Burt noticed that Mary kept trying. She’d bring him a cup of tea, perfectly brewed. She’d mention a new bird that had come to their feeder, and, when he didn’t respond, she’d simply stand there for a moment, waiting, and then go about her work. He never felt rushed, never pushed.
One afternoon, as Joyce was out running errands, Burt tried to get a heavy vase from a high shelf. He wanted to move it. He was determined to prove he didn’t need any help, and he wasn’t going to ask for any.
He wobbled on the stepladder, the vase clutched in his hands, his heart pounding. Just as he felt himself losing his balance, Mary was there, her hands steadying the ladder, her voice calm.
“I’ve got it, Burt,” she said, not with an air of superiority but with the quiet assurance of a teammate.
He was silent for a long moment, staring at his feet on the ladder’s rungs. He felt a wave of shame, followed by a surprising sense of relief. He looked at Mary – really looked at her, for the first time. Her face was kind, her eyes full of empathy.
“I was just … moving it,” he mumbled.
Mary just nodded. “I know,” she said, and, together, they carefully lowered the vase to the floor.
After that, Burt began to shift his thinking. He started to talk to her. He’d ask her about her own life, about her children. He learned she had a son who was a carpenter, and they talked about wood and tools.
He learned she loved to bake, and soon the smell of fresh cookies filled their kitchen on Fridays. Mary wasn't a stranger anymore. She was a presence, a quiet anchor in their home.
One afternoon, Joyce came home to find Burt and Mary in the living room, laughing. They were looking through an old photo album, and Burt was pointing to a picture of him and his friends in their 20s.
“We were a mess back then,” Burt said, his voice full of amusement. “All of us were trying to look cool, but we were just a bunch of goofballs.”
Mary laughed, her head tilted back. “Oh, Burt,” she said, a warmth in her voice that told Joyce they were no longer just a patient and a care assistant.
Later that evening, as they were getting ready for bed, Burt turned to Joyce. “She’s good, isn’t she?” he said, a note of quiet wonder in his voice. “She understands me.”
For Burt, the front door no longer felt like an entrance for a stranger – for “the babysitter” – but a place to welcome a friend.
Joyce smiled with gratitude. Burt had not only found help but a friend for both of them.
Also hear and read this “parent story” from 2024:
Go to “Anita’s Reliance on Re-imagination.”
Age: Our greatest asset!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
Weekly Stories About Aging Well
“It’s impossible not to love someone whose story you’ve heard.” - Mary Lou Kownacki
Stories about addressing ageism.
Stories about handling ableism.
Stories about thriving during the second half of life.
Accolade: “Love reading your stories. You never disappoint.” - Mary K.
How to use “My Latest Legacy Nugget” resources to share
your “52 Shades of Graying” comment with a family member or friend.
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - birthday
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See all past issues of “52 Shades of Graying.”
See all past chats of “52 Shades of Levity.”
Check guidelines for your “52 Shades of Graying” Discussion Group.
Back in the early 1970s, Dale was my part-time assistant when I really needed help as a fledgling corporate communicator with no staff but a growing opportunity to make an impact on a rapidly-expanding dairy cooperative.
It didn’t matter to him that I walked and talked with difficulty due to cerebral palsy. He wanted to learn the craft of business journalism.
We would work late at night writing copy together because Dale was still in high school and also wrote for the local weekly newspaper. As a volunteer worker, he helped me expand my vision of what effective corporate communication could mean to the long-term success of the cooperative.
After college, Dale covered the auto industry for the Wall Street Journal and eventually became an independent journalist.
In 1984, he was my best man when Pam and I were married.
* When has a helper become your friend?