Today I helped her wash and dress, sort out her clothes, clear up the mess. I cleaned her back so frail and bent and used her talc, her favourite scent.
I talked about her family. She said she wished that she was free, from her old bones she spoke of death. She prayed she'd soon take her last breath. I brushed her hair, so thin and grey the same as I did every day. I sat her down in her old chair, this is the job of those that care.
A kindly word, a gentle touch, it doesn't have to take that much. whilst washing with a bar of soap compassion leads the way to hope.
The job of caring can be tough and some days can be very rough When the whole world has put us down, it's hard not to be sad and frown.
But making someone smile again is like the sun after the rain. We do the job for little pay when life gets tough, it's us who stay.
When it is night and you're asleep the carers comfort those who weep. And when their life is at an end, they know that they are with a friend.
Respect for each and everyone who work in care, makes old live's fun. Who do the days and long night shifts, who have the spark, that special gift.
Remember that you are the light when you are facing a long night. You do the job where others fail, you stand up for the weak and frail.
Respect yourselves, you are the best. Make sure you also get some rest. When days seem just like one long grind, think what's achieved by being kind. Jan Millward©