The Little Girl Who Stood on a Stool

I grew up surrounded by my great-grandparents and grandparents. Looking back, I realize my journey into caregiving began long before I could read a full sentence.I was only five years old.

One of my earliest memories is walking to the neighborhood store with my great-grandmother. She was over ninety-five years old—strong, resilient, and wonderfully opinionated. She had something to say about almost everything, and she wasn’t afraid to say it. Looking back now, those little conversations still make me smile.Every afternoon she would ask my father,

“Fred, is your daughter around?”He already knew what she meant.

“Are you going for your walk?” he would ask.

“Yes,” she would reply. “I need to walk.”

I always looked forward to those afternoon walks. At the time, I have to admit, it wasn’t because I loved walking. It was because after every walk she would give me five cents. I carefully saved those little coins until I had enough to buy a piece of candy or a small bag of meringue from the neighborhood store.She had one little habit that always made me laugh. Before our walk, she would enjoy a tiny glass of alcohol, no more than a sip. It was simply part of her daily routine. While she quietly enjoyed her drink, I was usually busy trying to bargain with the store owner.

“This is my fifth time buying this month,” I would say. “Can I get a discount?”

Of course, I rarely succeeded.Those afternoons became part of our routine.

Then one day everything changed.I had been invited to a birthday party and missed our afternoon walk. When I came home, I found my great-grandmother sitting with large bandages covering her knees and scratches along her beautiful long legs.She had fallen.Thankfully, she recovered, and after some time we returned to our little walks together. She still carried her cane. She still gave me five cents.But gradually I noticed that walking became harder for her.Eventually, she became bedridden.

Back then, we didn’t have ceiling lifts or the equipment available today. My father and grandfather would carefully lift her from the bed into a chair and carry the chair into the bathroom. Bath time was never easy. She disliked having her hair washed and would protest loudly while my grandmother patiently cared for her.One day I stood quietly watching.My grandmother was trying to wash her hair while gently calming her. Then she looked at me and said,“Lynne, can you hand me the shampoo?”I reached for the shampoo, but I was too small to reach comfortably.So I grabbed a little wooden stool.Standing on that stool, I carefully began helping wash my great-grandmother’s long, beautiful hair.At first she protested.My grandmother smiled and said,“Fred’s daughter is helping.”Slowly, my great-grandmother became calmer.After the bath, once she was settled comfortably back into bed, she called me over.She placed five cents into my little hand.“This is all I have today,” she said.Looking back now, I often laugh and say…That was my very first paycheck as a caregiver.Five cents.At five years old.As the weeks passed, I continued helping my grandmother whenever I could. The screaming slowly became less frequent. Bath time became easier. My great-grandmother even seemed to look forward to those moments of gentle care.The five-cent coins kept coming.Eventually I lost interest in buying candy. Instead, I simply saved the money.As the years passed, her condition slowly declined. Sponge baths replaced showers. She became weaker, and moving her caused discomfort. My grandmother continued caring for her every single day with remarkable patience.I was still too small.I still needed my little stool.Sometimes my job was simply handing over a towel.Sometimes I held my great-grandmother’s hand while she was in pain.Sometimes I whispered,“It’s okay, Grandma. When you get better, we’ll go for another walk.”Even as her body grew weaker, her mind remained sharp. She continued sharing her opinions right until the end.

A few days before she passed away, she asked my grandmother to call the priest so she could receive her final Communion.She passed away peacefully in her sleep.Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t simply helping my grandmother.

I was watching compassion in action.

I was learning that caregiving is not only about helping someone bathe, dress, or eat. It is about preserving dignity, offering comfort, and being present through every stage of life.

I didn’t know it then, but standing on that little wooden stool beside my grandmother was the beginning of my own caregiving journey.

My caregiving journey didn't begin in nursing school.It began with a little girl, a wooden stool, and five cents.