When Vaughn first volunteered at the nursing home, she never anticipated how much the experience would change her life. At 22, she was looking for a way to boost her university applications and gain some work experience. The nursing home seemed like a practical solution. After all, the guidance counselor, Dorothy, had advised her to consider university soon, as time has a way of slipping away. Vaughn agreed, thinking that working and saving for a few years might give her enough to enter university eventually. But after years of bouncing from one foster home to another, she hadn’t expected that a place like the nursing home would start to feel like home.
Fast forward three years, and Vaughn, now 25, was still working at the nursing home. She had left her previous job as a personal assistant for a mom-influencer, finding it too stressful. The nursing home, on the other hand, had its own rhythm. The creaky floors, the echoing hallways, and the residents’ constant stories had become part of her routine. Although she initially thought of it as just a job, it soon turned into a refuge. Vaughn never regretted her decision to stay, though she had been unsure when she first started.
A Chance Encounter
One Tuesday, while making her usual rounds, Vaughn came across Mrs. Coleman, a 90-year-old resident who always sat by the window. Mrs. Coleman would stare out at the world as if waiting for something or someone. Though Vaughn hadn’t planned on stopping by, something about the quiet woman called her. She was about to continue her rounds when Mrs. Coleman reached out and grabbed her arm.
“I know you!” Mrs. Coleman whispered with an intensity that surprised Vaughn.
At first, Vaughn assumed it was the dementia that caused such confusion. Residents often mixed up faces and names, thinking staff were family members or long-lost friends. Vaughn gently reminded Mrs. Coleman of her name, but the elderly woman was insistent. “You used to live next door to me,” Mrs. Coleman said, her eyes lighting up. She described how Vaughn, as a little girl, would come over every year on her birthday. This revelation caught Vaughn off guard.
The Forgotten Connection
Vaughn couldn’t remember much of her childhood, especially the names of her foster families or the neighbors. The memories seemed faint, like shadows in the back of her mind. But as Mrs. Coleman spoke, Vaughn felt something stir inside her—a series of fragmented images, like a jigsaw puzzle missing most of its pieces. There was the warmth of birthday candles, the smell of chocolate cake, and the soft laughter of an older woman. Her heart raced as she struggled to connect the dots.
Mrs. Coleman continued, explaining how Vaughn had always been the only one to come to her birthday celebrations. “You were the only one who came,” she said, her voice tender. The words struck a chord in Vaughn’s heart, and for the first time in years, she felt a deep sense of loss. The details were too vivid to ignore, yet too distant to fully grasp.
A Moment of Reflection
Vaughn knelt beside Mrs. Coleman, holding her hand. She could feel the weight of the forgotten years pressing on her chest. As Mrs. Coleman spoke of their shared past, Vaughn was flooded with emotions she hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling, but there was a bond between them—one that time had tried to erase, but was now slowly coming back to the surface. Mrs. Coleman had never forgotten Vaughn, and somehow, that made Vaughn feel seen in a way she hadn’t felt before.
As she left Mrs. Coleman’s room that day, Vaughn found herself reflecting on the life she had lived—the foster homes, the forgotten memories, and the people who had crossed her path. Perhaps this was more than just a job for her. Maybe, just maybe, it was the place where she would uncover the parts of herself she had long buried.