In a forgotten village near Lublin, within a modest cottage, lived Weronika Nowak, a woman simply known in the community as Nowakowa. Over time, her first name faded from the neighbors’ memories, yet genuine respect for her persevered in every household.

At ninety-four years old, she remained remarkably vigorous: she managed her farm independently, tended to a well-kept garden, and maintained a home so spotless it seemed a legion of cleaners lived there, not a solitary elderly woman. Clad in a crisp, starched white headscarf and light apron, with dazzling windows adorned by flowers and spotless sills, Nowakowa embodied a life lived gracefully and with dignity.

Her husband had passed away a decade earlier, leaving her alone. Their three children — son Marek and daughters Ewa and Kasia — had left the village long ago, scattering like autumn leaves in different directions. The grandchildren matured, got busy with their own lives, and seldom remembered their grandmother far away in the countryside. At most, they called during holidays.

Yet she harbored no resentment, understanding fully that everyone has their own journey. Meanwhile, she quietly lived on: working, cherishing her goats, baking pierogi, and believing in the meaningfulness of it all.

“I simply kept going, trusting that my efforts carry significance, even if unnoticed,” she often thought to herself.

Sharing Gifts That Return

One day, a neighbor Grażyna stopped by with her daughter. “Good day, Nowakowa! We came for some cheese. Ola only eats the kind you make — she refuses store-bought!”

“Oh my dear ones, how happy I am! Here’s a blueberry pieróg, your favorite, Ola.”

“Thank you, grandma!” the little girl smiled brightly.

Weronika laughed warmly, “I know I spoil you all, don’t I? But who else am I to lavish attention on if not children? Mine keep pushing me away, always preoccupied… Recently, Krzysiek, our neighbor, drove over with my packages. They said they wouldn’t accept anything — neither pierogi, cheese, milk, nor jam. ‘We don’t eat that,’ they said. But I kept trying, silly old me…”

The women exchanged knowing glances. It was clear: Marek visited only once a year, bringing his boss along for fishing. A grandson showed up occasionally with friends, but they partied all night and vanished before dawn. The daughters hadn’t come around in five years. The grandchildren who once spent every summer with their grandmother had forgotten the path, busy vacationing abroad.

“And your goats? Is it not too exhausting for you now?” Grażyna inquired.

“Where would I be without them? They keep me alive. Without purpose, a person quickly withers. With them, I must rise early, feed them, milk them… Movement is health, Grażynka.”

The Garden That Became Unneeded

During the summer, as usual, Nowakowa busied herself in the garden. The flowerbeds were impeccable. Tomatoes, cabbage, potatoes, cucumbers — everything in its place, without a single weed. However, villagers began noticing her growing fatigue, the frequent pauses to catch her breath.

One day she collapsed, feeling weak. She asked Grażyna to call her children and tell them their mother was unwell. But no one came. Marek, Ewa, and Kasia remained silent on the other end of the line.

The neighbors tended to her as best they could. Krzysiek delivered medicine; Grażyna milked the goats and fed the chickens; another neighbor brought soups and cakes. Although grateful, the grandmother felt ashamed — unused to being a burden.

Her strength waned considerably. Eventually, she wrote a letter:

“Take me to your homes. I can no longer manage alone…”

She received no response, as if the message had been addressed to a blank wall.

The Farewell

By summer, she decided enough was enough. The goats were entrusted to Grażyna. For the first time in fifty years, she did not plant her garden. Instead, she sat by the window, gazing at the grass-covered earth she once dearly loved yet could no longer tend.

One day, in the attic, she discovered old school notebooks. She tore out a clean page and painstakingly wrote a letter, each letter written with pain and every word shedding tears. Afterwards, she placed the note beside a small bundle of money on the table.

Rain poured. For days, no smoke rose from the chimney. Concerned, neighbors entered the cottage and found the grandmother lying quietly beneath a blanket, seemingly asleep. But she would never awaken.

Calls to the children went unanswered. They wrote letters; only silence followed.

The burial was arranged by neighbors: Grażyna, Krzysiek, and a few others. The women baked cakes; the men helped carry the coffin. All done as if for family.

The children arrived the following evening—but only after everything was completed. In silence, they accepted the key from the neighbors and entered the house.

On the round table lay a white cloth, atop it the bundle of money and the letter.

“My dear children — Marek, Ewa, and Kasia,

At last, you have gathered together. Please, do not argue; support one another. I have given away the farm. If you do not want the sacred pictures, leave them for the church. My dog goes to Krzysiek, he is kind. Sell the house and divide the money equally. Forgive me and farewell.

Mother.”

• The house was locked and boarded up.
• Windows and doors were nailed shut.
• The dog was left to roam freely in the yard.
• The family departed without glancing back.
• Their car disappeared into the dust clouds, as if they had never been there.

Reflection

This poignant narrative reflects the sorrow of abandonment and the profound loneliness experienced by many elderly individuals. Despite Weronika’s devoted care and undying love for her family and animals, she was left isolated in her final days. Her story reminds us of the importance of cherishing our elders, maintaining family bonds, and recognizing the power of simple acts of kindness that can prevent such heartbreak.