There were two guys named Jack* at the senior center.

The first Jack (there’s at least one no matter where you go) was grumpy and had given up on life.

Working at the senior home, one of my responsibilities was to put out the water carafes before every meal. Many of the residents come down a good deal of time before the servers begin taking orders, and because of that, at some point I decided it didn’t make sense to put the waters at empty tables when there were three or four with someone sitting at them. Jack, being the first one down for the meal every day, appreciated that.

“You know; these kids here won’t ever amount to nothing. But you? You’re gonna be something.” He said to me in his gentlest growl.

In some ways, I was offended for my coworkers, that just because I gave him pitcher of water I was the one who was going places. I mean, that’s just common decency, right?

I decided that I shouldn’t be offended for my coworkers, and I then became offended for him. Why didn’t any of them give him the water first? He was the first one down and all the other tables were empty.

Soon, I found out why no one did simple, nice things for Jack.

“What the hell is this?,” Jack shouted at me. “This is not what I ordered, you piece of garbage.” I hadn’t messed up his order, I knew it.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I’ll get you a new one.” I reached down to pick up his plate.

“Just go!,” he shooed me away. “You’ll just mess up that one, too.”

I felt so horrible. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell my boss and get him in trouble, because I knew he wouldn’t hesitate at all to tell them what I had done wrong. But I didn’t. I didn’t because I saw him later during the meal, struggling to cut the piece of meat on the plate I had given him. Not because the meat was tough, or cooked wrong, but because he didn’t have the strength. I saw him shaking as he stood up to leave, falling into his walker with every step, and the pain in his eyes with every breath he took through his tank of oxygen. That’s when I realized he wasn’t upset with me for messing up his order. As I learned, he was too embarrassed to ask for the softer meal when he saw how hard it would be for him to eat the one I brought. He was exhausted because he had to lug around oxygen to help him breathe, only the heavy tank made breathing a little harder. He was pissed at life for the cards he was dealt.

The next time I came into work, I filled the carafes with ice and water. I wheeled them out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I walked up to Jack’s table and gave him his water.

“Thanks,” he said, in a low growl.

And I just said, “You’re welcome.”

The second Jack* is a little rare. Even though he’s lost his strength, most control of his body, and some of his mind, he remains joyful. He treats life like it is something to be cherished.

To me, Jack’s voice sounded like Pat Buttram as Chief from "Fox and the Hound." He is best frienemies with everyone; he acts like an old grouch but he is super sweet. He made angry jokes to scare new servers, right before he keyed them in on his horrible sense of humor. He was also kind of a nut. (And I say that in the most loving way possible.)

“Do you want a woodchuck?,” he’d ask.

Not believing him, anyone he asked would reply “sure?” and he would proceed to tell them how the woodchuck got into his apartment and into his shoe, and how he can’t get it out.

“I don’t know why the hell it’s in there,” Jack would say.

One of the most heartbreaking things about working in a nursing home is when Jack-two turns into Jack-one.

I’ve seen Jacks and Marys and Johns and Gracies go through it. As they get even older than old and feel like they’re losing control of their whole lives (because they are), their personalities begin to fall apart. Their families don’t visit, promises are broken, and they’re stuck in their rooms all day until they come down for dinner and are served mediocre meals from a serving line.

In my opinion, as long as I am still working with these residents, it’s my job to help validate their existence; their importance. No one should ever feel helpless or unloved. No one should ever feel alone.