Back then, they once again said it to me with that faint, mocking smile, that particular tone that blended arrogance with contempt: You only wash other peoples bodies.
It wasnt the first time, and it likely wont be the last.
In my younger days I would simply look away, keep silent, for I saw no point in arguing. This time, however, I chose not to be mute.
Yes, I wash.
But those who utter the word with derision see only the surface. They fail to grasp what lies beneath, for my work is far more than merely washing.
I touch ageing with tenderness, with the caution one uses when handling something fragile and defenseless. I feed those who can no longer lift a spoon. I comb tangled hair, trim nails, help them dress. At times I simply sit beside them, quiet, when the pain they feel is not of the flesh but of the soul. I listen to stories that no one else cares to hear, yet for them those memories are an entire world, a warmth that sustains the final years.
I care for those who once lifted others, raised children, built houses, healed wounds, taught lessons and now find themselves in need of support. In these daily, routine acts there is no humiliation, only dignity. Not weakness, but honour.
It is not dirty work. It is a matter of humanity.
Of patience, of love, of the capacity to remain human when others turn their gaze elsewhere. For when a person is powerless, wholly dependent on another, true kindness is put to the test.
When someone sneers at me, I think: they have never stood in the place of those who need help. They believe strength lies in money, in a career, in a title. Yet it does not. Real strength is staying human beside anothers frailty, not turning away, not recoiling, not diminishing.
I could not endure a job that demanded pretence, flattery, deceit for profit. Yet it is often those very roles that earn respect, while ours is undervalued, as if we were beneath everyone else.
I know that is not true.
In our quiet there is dignity. In our hands there is warmth that restores a persons sense of self. In our work there is a heart that never tires of compassion.
A day will come when those who disdain us can no longer stand on their own. Perhaps then they will understand: my work is not about washing bodies. It is about returning humanity, about a touch that heals, about a heat that reminds one, You are still alive, you matter, you have not been forgotten.
So yes, I tend to other peoples loved ones. I do it with respect, tenderness, and pride. For someday, perhaps it will be me. Or them. And then, I hope, someone will be there to do the same with love, without scorn, without fear, simply as a fellow human being.
