I visit my grandma at her nursing home every Sunday. She doesn’t remember much these days—sometimes not even me—but she always smiles when I bring her flowers. So when I walked in that afternoon, I expected the usual: her sitting by the window, humming an old tune.
But there was someone else with her.
A young man, maybe early twenties, wearing a blue hoodie. He was kneeling beside her, gently placing a single red rose in her hands. She held it carefully, looking at him with the same warm smile she used to give me when I was little.
I paused in the doorway, watching.
“Hi,” I finally said, stepping inside. He turned, startled, like he hadn’t expected anyone to see him. He had kind eyes, but there was something sad about them.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
I glanced at my grandma. She was still admiring the rose, whispering to it like it was an old friend.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
He hesitated, then sighed. “Not exactly.”
That’s when the nurse walked in and saw him. “Josh,” she said, a little surprised. “Back again?”
Again?
I turned to him, my chest tightening. “Why do you keep coming here?”
Josh glanced down at his hands, as if searching for the right words. “Because I know what it feels like to be forgotten.”
Silence hung in the air. I swallowed hard, waiting for him to continue.
“A couple of years ago, my grandma lived in a place like this,” he explained. “She used to tell me that the hardest part wasn’t getting old. It was feeling like nobody remembered you were still here.” He exhaled slowly. “She passed away last year. But I remember. So I come here and make sure nobody feels like that if I can help it.”
I stared at him, processing his words. “So… you just visit people? Even if you don’t know them?”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes, I bring flowers or cookies. Just small things. You’d be surprised how many people in places like this never get visitors. They just sit here, waiting, hoping someone will remember them.”
I glanced at my grandma, still holding the rose like it was the most precious thing in the world. My throat tightened.
“That’s… really kind of you,” I said softly.
Josh gave a small, sheepish shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just trying to make someone’s day a little better.”
I thought about my own visits. I came every Sunday, but that meant six other days passed where my grandma sat alone. I had told myself I was doing enough, but suddenly, it didn’t feel like it.
“Wait,” I said, realization dawning. “The lady at the front desk, she mentioned something about flowers and cookies today. That was you?”
Josh chuckled. “Yeah. I try to bring enough for everyone. The flower shop owner didn’t even want me to pay for the roses at first. He said he liked what I was doing.” He paused, then smiled. “But I paid him anyway. Kindness goes both ways, you know?”
Something about the way he said it stuck with me.
I looked at my grandma again. She was still smiling, still whispering to the rose, lost in her own world. Maybe, for a brief moment, she wasn’t alone in it. Maybe, because of Josh, today felt a little less lonely.
I turned back to him. “Would you mind if I joined you next time?”
Josh looked surprised but then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
As I left that day, I realized something. It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives, to assume the people we love will always be there, that what we do is enough. But kindness—real kindness—is about showing up. Even when we don’t have to. Even when no one is watching.
So here’s my challenge to you: reach out to someone who might be feeling forgotten. A call, a visit, even a small note can mean the world to someone who thinks nobody remembers them.
You never know how much a simple rose might mean to someone.
If this story touched you, share it. Maybe it will inspire someone else to bring a little kindness into the world today.
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