![]() Perhaps I did nothing for him, but I’d like to think I was a friendly face with a listening ear who may have reminded him of a grandchild. I spent nearly 20 years working alongside my dad as he tended to his thousands of elderly patients, and while many of those faces have faded from my memory, it’s that man who I can still recall. ![]() Upon my next visit a week later, I raced to his room to see if he had found the photo, only to be told that he had passed away. “Come by next time,” he had said, “I’ll find the photo for you.” I could feel his loneliness sink in he had wanted to foster any sort of connection with another human and was sad to not be able to provide photographic evidence of this life-changing event. He started looking around the room for the photo depicting his tale to show me, and was crestfallen when it was nowhere to be found. He recalled sitting in a car after Paris was freed and vividly remembered being surrounded by Parisians, all of them cheering and smiling. There was one man who stood out above the rest, however - excited for a listening ear, he regaled me with stories of his time spent in France during WWII. The Veteran’s Association facility was by far one of my favorites of course, there were obvious reasons, such as free sodas and a fat, friendly feline that would follow us around the building, but I particularly enjoyed hearing the stories the ancient veterans would tell. He needed an assistant, I wanted an allowance, so it worked out - I’d find his patients scattered across the building and bring them back to their rooms, keeping them occupied with small talk while waiting for my dad. As a kid, I’d tag along with my podiatrist father fairly regularly on his nursing home circuit.
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