I once took a boy named Ron into my home.
He and Tyler were close friends from a young age and could not be separated.
Ron lived in poverty and was raised by his grandmother after his parents passed away, in contrast to Tyler, who had everything he could possibly want. I fed, clothed, and made him live with us until he left for college in Europe. I treated him like my own son.
Ron didn’t come back to the United States after landing a high-paying job in Europe, and we eventually lost touch.
Prior to his arrival at the nursing home, I had no expectation that I would see him again.
After I finally calmed down, he said, “Mom.” You should not be in this nursing home, in my opinion. Would you kindly permit me to bring you home? He stated, “I would love to take care of you.”
I couldn’t stop crying again.
I was kicked out of my house by my own son, and in front of me was a man who wanted to take me in despite the fact that I wasn’t a relative by blood. Really, would you do that for me?”
