They exist in the morning when everything feels unnecessary. You wake up, get into your car and grasp the steering wheel so tight that you feel the joints that color.
Endless humming of the engine, the same old routine and thoughts that swirl in your mind like a storm. “What is it all? What makes sense when it looks like I’m just … I survive?” I often had these thoughts every morning, like a dull pain that I couldn’t escape.
But then something changed. One thought, one memory, pulled me out of the fog – the memory of a man named Vincent, the one who never smiled, but whose life he reminded me that in this world there was actually a purpose.
I spent a lot of morning in the morning, felt bored and disconnected, I just sat behind the wheel, lost myself in my thoughts and questioned, “What makes sense everything when you feel like you just … survived?”
But one day my mind went back to a man who reminded me that life had a purpose.
His name was Vincent – a man who never smiled.
After my father’s death, I moved to his old house with my two boys, Ashton and Adam, full of energy and mischief at the age of 12 and 14.
The first night in our new home I found Adam crying in my room and held a photo of my grandfather. “I miss Mom,” he whispered. “And sometimes … I miss, even if I shouldn’t.”
My husband left us years ago for another woman and my mother came out when I was a child. I learned not to rely on anyone. It was only the three of us, now we are facing life together.
Then there was Vincent, my solitary neighbor. His house was next to and we barely spoke.
“In the morning,” I would say when I saw him.
“Morning,” he replied. That was all. Just short exchanges and nothing more.
Until one day my boys brought home something I strictly forbidden.
“Mom, see what we have!” Ashton shouted.
“Where did you take it?” I asked and frowned.
“He was free,” Adam explained quickly. “The lady gave them away. She said that if no one took them, they would end up in a shelter.”
I crossed my hands. “So you thought bringing home a puppy is a solution?”
“He’s small!” Ashton argued. “He won’t eat much.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I was also a small one. Look how it turned out.”
“Please Mom!” Adam begged. “We’ll take care of him. You don’t have to do anything.” Then the eyes of the puppy from Ashton came. “Please Mom. You’ll love him. He’s so cute!”
My heart softened. Dad always wanted us to have a dog, but I was always afraid you would join, just to lose it.
I sighed and looked down at the puppy. “What’s his name?” I asked.
“Asher!” Ashton said.
“By no means,” Adam disagreed. “He looks like a simba.”
“Mom, you decide which one is better.”
I wiped the temples. “I don’t know, people. He looks like -“
“Simba is!” I finally decided.
Two weeks later, when walking a simby on the street, I first heard Vincent’s voice over our usual greetings.
“Sorry, can I have a word?”
I turned, surprised. He sat at his fence and watched us – or rather watched Simba.
I hesitated but passed. “Yes?”
“I trained the German shepherd,” he said, and his voice tinted something heavy. “Back when I was on duty.”
His tone was something, silent sadness that hurts my chest.
“Would you mind if I cuddled him?” he asked.
He turned the chair to the house and heard a loud accident.
“I’m fine,” he murmured.
“No, no,” I said quietly. “And that’s okay.”
His eyes met my, full of unhappy pain. “Sometimes I forget,” he whispered. “I will reach out on things like I used to be … like my legs are still there.” His voice behaved.
His gaze persisted in the picture – younger Vincent standing with a large dog in the field. “That’s a shadow,” he said, pointing to the dog. “During my deployment she saved my life twice. Last time …” His voice broke. “Last time she gave me life.”
“I miss it,” he admitted. “Dogs were everything to me. My family. My world.”
He paused and then added, “I never got married. I never wanted children. It was enough for me.”
His eyes rose. “Why would you like to help someone like me? A broken man?”
“Because no one is broken,” I said, thinking of his own scars. “We’re all waiting to feel again.”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted tiredly. “It’s so long.”
I approached closer. “So try it.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll try it.”
A smile was slowly spreading down my face, despite the sting in my eyes.
From that day, Vincent has become part of our family. Every afternoon he sat in our yard and worked with my boys to train SIMBY – using commands, repairs and rewards.
Simba crossed out that he was a wild puppy on a disciplined, intelligent dog. And my boys? They became more responsible, more patient.
And Vincent? He returned to life. His days were filled with the purpose, laughter and something he thought he had lost forever.
conclusion
From that day our lives have never been the same. Vincent, a man who barely spoke, has become a constant presence in our house. Through his silent leadership and the connection he created with my boys, he rediscover his purpose. Our once lonely and quiet neighborhood has turned into a place full of laughter, social education and healing.
Vincent showed us that even in our darkest moments there is always room for growth, change and rediscovery. And again he reminded me that no one was ever broken – we all wait for the right moment, the right connection to feel the whole again.
In a world that sometimes feels as if it were just about survival, we have learned that life with the purpose, love and willingness to try again can bring light even the most difficult days.