I noticed an elderly woman in the supermarket, decided to buy groceries for her and take her home, but in her apartment I saw something terrible 😢😨
Today, an elderly woman caught my eye in the supermarket. Her eyes ran over the price tags, and her trembling fingers carefully sorted through the cheapest canned goods. It was only two degrees above zero, and she was standing at the shelf in rubber flip-flops and thin socks.
I came up to her and helped her choose – although there wasn’t much to choose from. But then I just couldn’t let her go alone. I suggested that we walk around the store together. At first she was confused, then she agreed, frightened.
I started putting the simplest products in her basket – pasta, eggs, vegetables, butter. She kept repeating:
– Oh, no, they won’t let me through the checkout, they know I don’t have any money…
When she realized that I was not joking and really intended to pay for everything she needed, her eyes warmed. She took the butter… and rice. That’s all. I asked her what she didn’t have at home. The answer was short:
– Nothing. Nothing at all.
I added chocolate to the basket. And at that moment I saw something I will never forget: joy flashed in her eyes – real, childish. My little sister has the same eyes when I let her take an extra candy.
“I love chocolate so much,” she whispered. “But I haven’t tried it for five years.”
While we were walking to the checkout, grandma stopped several times: she either refused to buy something or asked:
— Tell the checkout that you are my nephew… Otherwise they won’t let you in…
She crossed herself, thanked, made excuses. It seemed that somewhere in the past she had already been sent away with her purchases. Maybe because she didn’t have enough 10 rubles.
I paid for the purchases and then offered to drive her home. When we went to her house, I was simply horrified by what I saw.
I took her home. She lived in a large brick house at the intersection of Leninsky Prospekt and Udaltsova Street. A high-rise building, a prestigious entrance, a concierge.
I was surprised – I thought she was huddled somewhere on the outskirts in an old Khrushchev-era building. It turned out that the apartment was given to her in exchange for an old house that was demolished. Now she pays almost half of her pension for utilities.
The apartment is cold, there is cardboard on the floor instead of carpet, there is no refrigerator or stove in the kitchen. Everything was taken out after her son’s death – by her daughter-in-law and sister.
They don’t come anymore. They call once every six months to find out if she’s dead. If she’s not dead, they hang up.
“They’re waiting for me to be gone,” she said with the calm that comes only from long pain.
The worst thing is that her neighbors see her. They saw her son, they know that she is left alone. They see how in the fall she goes out in flip-flops, how she drags bags of expired goods. And everyone is silent.
But everything I bought her cost a little over three thousand rubles. A food basket that would last her a month. Was there really not a single person in this whole big, rich house who wanted to help?
I couldn’t just turn around and walk away.
I called a friend – he has his own small grocery business. I told him about it, and he immediately agreed. A monthly grocery set is the minimum.
I got a couple more friends involved – they agreed to help with medicines and repairs. A week later I came again. Grandma greeted me like her own grandson.
Brought food, medicine, new warm shoes. Ordered cleaning. Found a repairman who fixed the stove. Installed a new electric kettle.
And you know what? The room was filled with the smell of life. Hope appeared in her eyes, and a smile appeared on her lips. Small, quiet, but real.
Old people don’t ask for much. They don’t demand. They don’t complain. They just wait. Sometimes for help. Sometimes for death.
