They said, “Papa, you’ll be more comfortable there. You won’t be alone.”

 They said, “Papa, you’ll be more comfortable there. You won’t be alone.”

But comfort isn’t four walls. Comfort is family.

And I lost mine the day they left me there.

The first night, I couldn’t sleep.

The room was filled with strangers, but silence was louder than everything.

I kept waiting for a call, a message, anything.

Nothing came.

I used to have a big house once.

Laughter filled the rooms.

Festivals felt alive, neighbors came and went, my grandchildren played on my shoulders.

Now, festivals are just another day.

I sit quietly, watching others meet their families, while mine forgets me.

One day, a volunteer asked:

“Uncle, what do you want the most?”

I smiled faintly and said:

“A hug from my son.”

But that hug never came.

Now, I spend my evenings staring at the gate, pretending someone will walk in.

Every footstep outside makes my heart race.

But they always pass by.

Not for me. Never for me.

I am not angry at my children.

I am not bitter.

I just wonder…

How can people forget the hands that once fed them?

The shoulders that once carried them?

The heart that still beats for them?

And yet, every night, before I sleep,

I whisper a prayer:

“God, keep them happy, even if they forget me.”

If you believe parents deserve love till their last breath —

Say it with pride: “I will never abandon mine.”

Some stories deserve to be heard — not just read. If you agree, hit that upvote. And follow for more voices that don’t stay silent.

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