I decided to buy food for the elderly woman I saw at the supermarket and take her home, but what I found in her apartment was disgusting 
At the grocery store today, I saw an elderly woman. Her gaze skimmed the price tags as her trembling fingers painstakingly went through the cheapest canned products. She stood by the shelves in the two-degree temperature, wearing rubber slippers and light socks.
Although there wasn’t much to choose from, I went over and helped her choose a few things. But I couldn’t let her go away by herself. I volunteered to show her around the shop. She looked puzzled, then scared, and finally she nodded.
I started putting necessities like pasta, eggs, vegetables, and oil in her basket. She went on to say:
“Oh no, please don’t do it.” They won’t allow me go through the checkout because they know I don’t have any money.
When she realized that I was sincere and would truly pay for all of her bills, her eyes grew softer. She picked up some butter and rice. That was it. I asked her what she had at home. Her answer was brief:
— “Nothing.” Not a thing.
I also included a chocolate bar. I will always remember the pure, innocent joy I witnessed in her eyes at that very moment. This is how my younger sister looks when I give her an extra piece of candy.
In a whisper, she said, “I love chocolate.” Nevertheless, I haven’t tried it in perhaps five years.
As we approached the checkout, she repeatedly stopped, wanting to return items, and asked me:
Please inform the teller that you are my nephew. They won’t let us pass if we don’t.
She crossed herself, thanked me, and apologized. Perhaps since she was short 10 rubles, she felt as though she had already been sent away.
I offered to pay for the things and then drive her home. However, I was shocked by what I saw as we entered her apartment 
In my automobile, I drove her home. She lived in a large brick home at the intersection of Leninsky Prospekt and Udaltzova Street. a sophisticated, concierge-staffed high-rise entrance.
I was taken aback since I had assumed she resided in an old, remote Khrushchyovka. As it happens, she was given this flat after her previous home was demolished. She now pays for more than half of her pension with utilities alone.
The apartment was frigid. There was no refrigerator or stove in the kitchen, and the floor was covered with cardboard instead of carpet. Her sister and daughter-in-law had taken everything after her son died.
They aren’t available anymore. They call her to check on her existence, perhaps once every six months. If she is, they hang up.
“They’re waiting for me to die,” she said, with the calm that only comes with silent, long suffering.
The worst part? Everything is seen by her neighbors. They knew her son, and they know she is alone. They watch her go out in slippers in the fall with sacks of stale food. Silence also falls.
Everything I bought her, though, only came to little over 3,000 rubles. A whole month’s supply of groceries. Is there really no one in that big, fancy facility who wants to help?
I couldn’t just walk away.
I called my acquaintance who runs a small supermarket. When I presented the problem to him, he immediately agreed to help. A monthly grocery bundle, at the very least.
Other friends I invited helped with repairs and medicine. A week later, I returned. As if I were her own grandchild, she embraced me.
I brought food, medicine, and clean, warm shoes. I organized the cleaning. They recruited a handyman to fix the stove. A brand-new electric kettle was set up.
What do you know, too? The room was filled with the scent of life. Hope came back into her eyes, and a smile appeared on her lips. Small, quiet, but real.
The wants of the elderly are minimal. They don’t demand things. They don’t complain. They do nothing except wait. For help, occasionally. Sometimes for death.
