Copyrighted by Asher Linda, March 8, 2026

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Two young hispanic women dressed in casual business attire came into the house where two female senior citizens who were related lived.

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“Don’t worry about not having a car. We are bringing you your food distributions twice monthly, which is as often as it is given out, along with some inexpensive medical supplies, such as bandages, gauze, wipes, etcetera.”

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“Good, thank you,” said one of the women.

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“So it is twice a month? Does this home delivery cost anything?” The other relative asked to confirm what they were told.

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“No,” one of the senior food bank services confirmed, “it’s free.”

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One of the two seniors opened the door for the aide workers to leave. The other woman stayed back and smiled. The first woman leaned on the door opening with a sorrowful expression on her face.

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They did not look that old to be senior citizens. They spent their money on education and their time in a modest-sized town that did not pay individuals what they were worth or for the use of their skills.

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Futhermore, business owners and contract workers in the area, whom the elderly hired, tried to take as much as they could from seniors, expecting them to be naive, dumb or senile. Most of these individuals were disappointed or angry when they failed to rob the elderly or were exposed to the authorities.

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No one stood up to protect the citizens from such hoodlums. No one said it shouldn’t be allowed. Neither did they, because they were scrambling to show their worth and skills, for which they never got paid for.

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The only jobs that anyone offered nowadays was volunteer work.

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That does not pay the bills.

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The phone rang. Tabatha answered her phone. Her mom was in the hospital.

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She was already sad. She was grateful for God’s care and protection. Now it’s her mom this time.

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Keep praying.

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Once inside the hospital, Tabatha went to the front desk and got a snippet of information to where she was to go. After going there, she received no information except that her mom was already moved to another area in the hospital.

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All the technicians were young, and treated her as if she was one of them. They were teasing one of the male techs that it was time for his blood sugar update. Another tech pulled out an old crochet hook from the supply cabinet and handed it to him. They all laughed.

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Tabitha rushed to another area, still she could not find her mom and pictured a senerio that she would find her tomorrow morning in another room that was cold with a toe tag on her foot.

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It was useless to stay here overnight. She could not protect her mom from harm or keep her from anyone who was trying to, as they say in this town,‘to keep her comfortable,’ which could mean anything.

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She took a taxi to the hospital, but now it was very late, and she had no way to go home.

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One of the young people invited her to come and eat supper with them and then they would take her home.

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Upon entering the older home built in the 1960’s, she saw the living room floor covered with seated laughing and smiling younger adults, all different shades of skin colors, a few were pale white and some darker. A couple of women wore skiing jackets with very snug hoods.

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She walked into the dining room, and again, the whole room was filled with chairs and benches, just like the living room, loaded with individuals in the same good mood.

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No carousing. No hopelessness. No drugs. No arguments.

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Just the love and peace of coworkers with one another.

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She smiled and the sadness drained from her. Tabatha’s own youth seemed to have returned to her as seasonal flowers appear in a blooming desert.