Caroline's Story

When my sister and I were younger, Gran’s illness had a big impact on us. I remember sitting beside her in the hospital one afternoon, the faint scent of roses through the window. She watched the nurses pass by with thoughtful eyes and said to me, “Some of them just do the job.”

I didn’t understand the weight of that sentence at the time. But those words stuck with me, tucked away, waiting to make sense.

20 Years passed. As I got older, life shifted, and one day I found myself thinking about care work. Not just as a job, but as a calling. And just like that, Gran’s voice echoed back through time. Her meaning became so clear: there’s a difference between simply doing a job and truly caring for someone.

That became my drive to make a difference.

I stepped into the world of care work not to tick boxes, but to bring joy, to offer presence, light, and maybe even a laugh when days felt heavy for someone. I never wanted to be the kind of person who counted down the minutes. I wanted to be remembered as someone who made people feel safe, seen and genuinely valued.

Some of the most beautiful moments in my journey haven’t been dramatic. They’ve been simple and deeply human.

There’s a couple I care for, a lovely pair who squabble over the silliest things, but you can see how much they adore each other in every glance. They can’t do the things they once loved, but that doesn’t mean joy has left the room. Sometimes we would just sit and play games, and they laugh like children again. In those moments, it’s not about what they’ve lost, it’s about what they still have. Each other.

I’ve had clients with dementia, souls drifting in and out of memory, who beam when I greet them with a familiar song or a shared joke. Maybe they don’t recall my name, but for a few precious minutes, they’re fully there. And that connection, it’s the highlight of my week.

Then there are the little things, like turning up on Christmas Eve wearing a silly hat, handing out mince pies and Christmas hats, that bring a smile to someone’s face. These aren’t grand acts. But they matter.

That, to me, is what care truly is. Not just helping someone wash or dress, but noticing when they seem quieter than usual. Knowing which biscuit they love with their tea. Picking up on the stories they tell over and over again, not because they’ve forgotten they told you before, but because they need someone to listen again.

At the end of each visit, I often walk to my car and look back. Sometimes there’s a wave from the window. Sometimes, just a smile. And on the drive home, I'm proud, knowing that I left them happier than when I arrived.

I care. With a happy heart.

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