When I first volunteered at my local long term caren centre, I expected to give more than I would receive. Armed with good intentions and a vague desire to “help the elderly,” I met Mr. Berin, a 92-year-old former English professor with a penchant for poetry and Russian literature. What began as weekly chess games evolved into a profound relationship that reshaped my understanding of aging, wisdom, and human connection.
Mr. Berin moved with careful deliberation, his hands slightly trembling as he positioned each chess piece. Yet his mind remained razor-sharp. He would recall passages from Dostoevsky while strategizing his next move, often connecting literature to the patterns on our chessboard. “Life, like chess,” he once mused, “is about the moves you didn’t make as much as those you did.”
Our conversations traversed decades of history he had witnessed firsthand. He described watching television for the first time, the collective grief when Kennedy was assassinated, and the surreal moment of seeing humans walk on the moon. These weren’t just stories from history books; they were the vibrant memories of a man who had lived through transformative moments that shaped our world.
What struck me most was his perspective on technology. Rather than dismissing smartphones and social media as many his age might, he was fascinated by them. “Imagine what Tolstoy could have done with Google at his fingertips,” he laughed. His curiosity remained undiminished by age.
There were difficult moments too. I witnessed his frustration when words eluded him mid-sentence or when his body refused to cooperate with his still-active mind. These instances taught me patience and the importance of preserving dignity through the aging process.
When Mr. Berin passed away last spring, I discovered he had mentioned me in his journal—describing our chess games as “intellectual oases” in his week. I hadn’t realized how significantly our interactions had impacted him.
My time with Mr. Berin revealed that working with the elderly isn’t about one-directional care but rather a reciprocal exchange of experience and perspective. The elderly aren’t simply recipients of our attention but bearers of wisdom earned through decades of living.
In a society often fixated on youth, my friendship with Mr. Berin remains a reminder that meaningful connections transcend generational divides, and that those in their twilight years still burn brightly with insights, humor, and humanity worth experiencing.
By Ege Poyraz
