Today someone, with that barely concealed smirk and the eversodelicate blend of superiority and disdain, said it again: Youre just cleaning up after other people.
Its not the first time, and it probably wont be the last. In the past Id simply look away, keep quiet, because I saw no point in arguing. This time, though, I decided to speak up.
Yes, I clean. But the folks who toss the word around with a chuckle only see the surface. They dont realise what lies beneath, because my job is far more than just cleaning.
I handle the twilight years with the tenderness one uses when cradling a fragile teacup. I feed those who cant lift a spoon anymore. I brush hair, trim nails, help with dressing. Sometimes I just sit nearby, silent, when the ache is not in the body but in the heart. I listen to stories that nobody else seems to care about, yet for them those tales are an entire universe, warm memories that light up their final years.
I look after the people who once raised children, built houses, taught at the local school, patched up neighbours burns, and now find themselves in need of a steady hand. In these everyday, routine acts there is no humiliation, only dignity. Not weakness, but a quiet pride.
Its not dirty work. Its about humanity. About patience, about love, about the ability to remain human when everyone else turns their eyes elsewhere. Because when someone is truly helpless, reliant on another for everything, thats when genuine kindness is put to the test.
And when someone delivers that line with a sneer, I think: they simply havent stood where the need is. They believe strength lives in money, in a corner office, in a title. But it doesnt. Real strength is staying beside anothers frailty, not walking away, not looking down, not dismissing.
I couldnt keep a job where I had to pretend, flatter, or lie for a profit. Yet its often those very roles that earn applause, while our work is brushed aside as if were beneath everyone else.
I know thats not true. In our quiet theres dignity. In our hands theres warmth that reminds a person they still matter. In our work theres a heart that never tires of compassion.
One day, those who look down on us will find themselves unable to pull themselves up. Perhaps then theyll see: my work isnt about washing bodies. Its about restoring humanity, a touch that heals, a warmth that says, Youre still alive, youre still important, you havent been forgotten.
Yes, I tend to other peoples loved ones. I do it with respect, tenderness, and a dash of pride. Because maybe, someday it will be me who needs that care. Or perhaps it will be them. And when that day comes, I hope there will be someone nearby who does the same with love, without scorn, without fear, just humanly.
