“Excerpt from UNASSISTED”

Among the caregivers there were also saints, employees who had found their calling in life. It seemed there was nothing they would not do in the course of taking care of the residents. Their smiles, their humanity, their focus, and their touch were so genuine that on more than one occasion I found myself searching for wings on their back. Nothing fazed them. They showed up early so they could spend time greeting residents and asking about their evenings. They volunteered to help whenever an extra hand was needed (and somehow were always nearby when it was). They hummed quietly or sang out loud as they went about their work, hugged and clapped joyously, and encouraged and complimented all who crossed their path. They were paid between ten and twelve dollars per hour. Time and a half if they worked more than forty hours in a seven-day period.  

These caregivers didn’t mind disorder. All the noise, the piles of stuff, the childish behavior, the tantrums, the puking, the refusing to eat something, the anger at authority, the endless complaints, and the countless times they heard, “You don’t understand me”—the caregivers just took it in stride. Stratford and every other ElderHome facility would have to shutter its doors without the likes of the caregiving saints.