"They took my mother and my sister," she said to me. "I will never see them again, will I?" She peered from her light brown eyes in to mine with a face drowned in bewilderment.
"I don't know," was all I had the heart to tell her.
The truth is that she wouldn't see them again. Her mother and sister had been dead for more than 50 years. They were victims in the Holocaust. Rose was a survivor, but also suffering from Dementia. This was my third visit to the Silverado Retirement home and each time, my conversations with Rose dug deeper. At first, she was skeptical of me. She shouted at me a couple times and mumbled her disgust in her native language.
I was a brown skin girl with curly hair, braces and a forced smile, trying to help Rose eat dinner, make small talk, maybe play a card game, then go back to my world, until next time. This was simply community service hours for my resume.
But soon enough Rose stole my heart and my visits became more than a log sheet.
Each discussion Rose and I shared was meaningful. Our differences in age and culture didn't build barriers between us, but played a key role in tying our bond even tighter. I was only 15 years old when I made a private oath to visit Rose every Tuesday; more than what was required of me. She needed someone to talk to, in general, and I was willing to listen. I sought to open my mind to more than my generation's impertinent priorities. I became a listener, fed and intrigued by someone else's story.
"It was hard, watching all the people around me disappear and having to act like it was normal. My people were oppressed, while the rest of the world carried on about their business," she said, wrapped in her blankets as she stroked her Star of David hanging below her collar bone.
In some way, our people's history could relate. African Americans were enslaved and were withheld an education as a form of oppression. Yet, I could never feel the same sorrow Rose had because of her real experience within the gates of genocide. My sympathy for her built selfless attributes within me.
Time passed and Rose slowly forgot that I become a part of her life. I didn't blame her dementia or the times I couldn't visit. I, instead, was thankful for every Tuesday I did spend with Rose, lost in each other's presence, closer in our friendship. Our time together was an impact on my life that will never lose significance. Rose subtly aided my growth in being mindful of others and realizing there's more to life than what it seems. I have grown into a mature young adult with an open-minded in such a diverse world. From what started as a resume addition, I learned the meaning of friendship and watched myself grow into the person I need to be.
Please give me your opinion on what the essay is like to you and what changes you would make. I'm pretty sure I spellchecked everything!
"I don't know," was all I had the heart to tell her.
The truth is that she wouldn't see them again. Her mother and sister had been dead for more than 50 years. They were victims in the Holocaust. Rose was a survivor, but also suffering from Dementia. This was my third visit to the Silverado Retirement home and each time, my conversations with Rose dug deeper. At first, she was skeptical of me. She shouted at me a couple times and mumbled her disgust in her native language.
I was a brown skin girl with curly hair, braces and a forced smile, trying to help Rose eat dinner, make small talk, maybe play a card game, then go back to my world, until next time. This was simply community service hours for my resume.
But soon enough Rose stole my heart and my visits became more than a log sheet.
Each discussion Rose and I shared was meaningful. Our differences in age and culture didn't build barriers between us, but played a key role in tying our bond even tighter. I was only 15 years old when I made a private oath to visit Rose every Tuesday; more than what was required of me. She needed someone to talk to, in general, and I was willing to listen. I sought to open my mind to more than my generation's impertinent priorities. I became a listener, fed and intrigued by someone else's story.
"It was hard, watching all the people around me disappear and having to act like it was normal. My people were oppressed, while the rest of the world carried on about their business," she said, wrapped in her blankets as she stroked her Star of David hanging below her collar bone.
In some way, our people's history could relate. African Americans were enslaved and were withheld an education as a form of oppression. Yet, I could never feel the same sorrow Rose had because of her real experience within the gates of genocide. My sympathy for her built selfless attributes within me.
Time passed and Rose slowly forgot that I become a part of her life. I didn't blame her dementia or the times I couldn't visit. I, instead, was thankful for every Tuesday I did spend with Rose, lost in each other's presence, closer in our friendship. Our time together was an impact on my life that will never lose significance. Rose subtly aided my growth in being mindful of others and realizing there's more to life than what it seems. I have grown into a mature young adult with an open-minded in such a diverse world. From what started as a resume addition, I learned the meaning of friendship and watched myself grow into the person I need to be.
Please give me your opinion on what the essay is like to you and what changes you would make. I'm pretty sure I spellchecked everything!
