Today someone said the same thing to me again, with that barely concealed smirk and the particular tone that mixes superiority with contempt: Youre just cleaning up after other peoples loved ones.
It isnt the first time Ive heard it, and it probably wont be the last.
Before I would simply look away and keep quiet, thinking there was no point in arguing. This time, I decided to speak up.
Yes, I clean.
But those who throw the word around mockingly only see the surface. They dont understand what lies beneath, because my work is far more than just cleaning.
I treat old age with tenderness, handling each moment as carefully as one would hold a delicate, defenseless thing. I feed those who can no longer lift a spoon. I comb hair, trim nails, help with dressing. Sometimes I simply sit beside someone in silence when their pain is not in the body but in the soul. I listen to stories that nobody else seems interested in, yet for those people those tales are whole worlds, warm memories that brighten their final years.
I look after the very people who once raised families, built houses, healed wounds, taught lessons and now need support themselves. In these daily, routine acts there is no humiliation, only dignity. Not weakness, but honour.
This isnt dirty work. Its about humanity. Its about patience, love, and the ability to remain a human being when others turn their heads away. When a person is helpless, when they depend on another for everything, true kindness is tested.
When someone says it with disdain, I think: they simply havent stood in the place of those who need help. They believe strength comes from money, a highearning career, a title. But it does not. Real strength is staying human beside anothers fragility, not walking away, not sneering, not devaluing.
I could not work in a job that demands pretence, flattery, or 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 isnt true. In the quiet of our work lies dignity. In our hands is the warmth that restores a persons sense of self. In our labour beats a heart that never tires of compassion.
One day the people who look down on us will find themselves unable to stand on their own. Perhaps then they will realise my work isnt about washing bodies but about returning humanity, a healing touch, a warmth that whispers: you are still alive, you matter, you have not been forgotten.
Yes, I care for other peoples loved ones. I do it with respect, gentleness, and pride. And perhaps, someday, it will be me in need of care or them. When that moment comes, I hope there will be someone nearby who does the same thing, with love, without contempt or fear, simply the way a decent human should.
