Some people wait, while others live. Vincent, my old, lonely friend, was the second type. Every day, he would sit in his wheelchair and stare at the road as if he were waiting for something that never came. I never saw him smile or hear him say more than a word until our worlds met.
When you drop your kids off at school, do you ever just… stare in your car? It’s like the weight of everything—bills, clothes, dinner, and life itself—is sitting on your chest, daring you to do something.
One morning, I had one of those times. When I felt like I was just… surviving, I was sitting there with my hands on the driving wheel and asking myself, “What’s the point of anything?”
I got over it. Since that’s what moms do. We get over it, keep going, and shake it off.
But that day, for some reason, I thought about a man who had once told me that life DOES have a point. That you are important, even when you don’t think you are.
Vincent was his name, and he NEVER SMILED.
When my dad died, I packed up my life and moved into his old house with my two boys, Ashton (12) and Adam (14), who are always being bad. We had it, even though it wasn’t much.
I found Adam crying in his new room with an old picture of his grandpa the night we moved in. He said in a whisper, “I miss him, Mom.” “And sometimes… sometimes I miss my dad too.” Yet I know I should not do it.
My heart hurt as I pulled him close. “Hey, it’s okay to miss him.” I understand how you feel, sweetheart.
Adam’s voice cracked as he said, “But he left us.” “He picked “her” over us.”
Even though my heart hurt, I said, “That’s his loss.” “Because of Ashton and you?” “You are the best thing that will ever happen to me.”
Years ago, my husband skipped town and picked another woman over us. He always paid child support, but he never remembered birthdays, holidays, or even to say, “Hey, how are my kids?”
As a child, my mother left me, so I knew not to depend on anyone. Now it was just the three of us against the world.
Then there was my friend Vincent.
His house was next to ours and was always quiet. Besides going to the store for food, he never had anyone over or went anywhere else. He sat in his wheelchair on his porch and looked out at the road as if he were waiting for something that never came.
When I see him, I’d say, “Good morning.”
He would say, “Morning.”
There was no more to our relationship after that. “Good morning,” “hello,” and “hi”… not a thing else.
I thought this was how life would be—being a mother and housewife, with days that blur together and nothing but quiet.
Until my boys did something I had told them they couldn’t do for years.
They screamed through the door while I was washing the dishes.
“Mom, look at what we found!” Ashton yelled while holding a bunch of fur that was moving around.
A cute German Shepherd dog wriggled in between them. Its big ears flopped and its tail wiggled like it belonged. I was shocked as Ashton carefully put the baby down on the floor.
“Excuse me?” “Where did you get that?” I blink and ask, already fearing the answer.
“He was free,” Adam quickly added. “This woman was giving them away.” She said, “They’d end up in a shelter if no one took them.”
I put my arms together. “And you thought that getting a puppy would help?”
“He’s not big!” Ashton dragged on. “He’s not going to eat much.”
I laughed. “Yeah, buddy, I was that little too.” “See how that turned out?”
“Please, Mom!” Adam asked for help. “We’ll take care of him.” There is nothing you need to do.
This is when Ashton gave me the puppy dog eyes. “Please, Mom.” You’ll love him… “I love him so much.”
It made me think of my youth dreams of having a dog, which were dashed when my mother moved out and took our family pet with her.
“Mom?” It was hard to hear Ashton. “Do you remember what Grandpa said?” The idea that every house needs a heartbeat
I held my breath. Dad had always wanted us to have a dog, but I was afraid of getting attached and losing the dog.
I sighed and looked at the dog. He wasn’t very big, and his ears were too big for his head. His tail was wagging like he loved us more than anything else. It was too many for me.
“What is his name?” I asked.
“Sher!” Ashton said it.
Adam replied, “No way.” “He looks like a Lion King.”
“Mom, tell me which one is better.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Guys, I don’t know, he looks like a—”
The dog gave a short bark.
“That’s Simba!” What I chose.
Ashton made a noise. Adam pumped his fist. That was it, Simba was ours.
Two weeks later, Vincent’s voice was heard for the first time other than our normal hellos as we walked Simba down the street.
“Miss, may I say something?”
I turned around, shocked. Sitting on his fence, he watched us. Watching Simba, to be exact.
After some thought, I walked over and waved my hand. “Yes?”
It was him who said, “I used to train German Shepherds.” “When I was in the military.”
I felt a dull pain in my chest when he said “used to.”
He also asked, “Would it be okay if I pet him?”
When I said yes, Vincent rolled himself forward. He reached out with a rough, worn-down hand. Something changed as soon as his fingers touched Simba’s fur.
He made a face.
He never smiled before.
He asked, “May I give him a treat?”
“Okay.”
He leaned his chair toward his house, but I heard a loud CRASH before he could get through the door. I rushed inside. His chair was slouched, and a broken bowl of cookies was lying at his feet.
He said, “I’m fine,” but his hands were shaking.
I said softly as I kneeled next to him, “No, you’re not.” “That’s fine.”
The sadness in his eyes that had been hidden for years met mine. He said in a whisper, “Sometimes I forget.” “I still use my legs and reach for things the way I used to.” His voice broke.
He didn’t bother me, so I grabbed a broom. I saw the pictures on the walls at that point. A dozen of them.
Vincent while he was younger and in uniform. He was standing next to strong, well-behaved Shepherds who were jumping over things, standing at attention, and waiting for orders.
I turned around and looked at him again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of one picture—a younger Vincent standing in the middle of a field with five Shepherds around him and his hand raised in the air.
He pointed to the biggest dog and said, “That’s Shadow.” “She saved my life twice while I was in the army.” The last time… He took a deep breath. “The last time, her life cost us.”
“I miss it,” he said, his voice full of something real. “I lived for dogs.” My family. “Everything I have.”
“I didn’t marry,” he said after some thought. Didn’t want children. Didn’t think they had to. “They were enough.”
“That was it after the accident,” he said in a low voice.
I took a deep breath and looked at his legs. I already knew what had happened. Even though he was still here, his life was over. That’s when it clicked.
If you could, could you help my boys train Simba? I asked.
He looked at me with surprise. “What?”
“Only you know as much as I do about Shepherds.” Teach them, Vincent, and teach me too.
“I-I don’t know—”
I told him, “I do.” “This is what you NEED.”
His eyes got teary. “Why?” “Why would you want to help an old man who is hurt?”
I thought about my own scars and said, “Because no one’s broken.” “Everyone is just waiting to feel whole again.”
Vincent had white, curled fingers that were on the wheelchair arms. His chin moved like he was trying to swallow something heavy as he looked at me for a long time.
He tiredly said, “I don’t know if I can still do this.” “It’s been years.”
I took a step closer. “Try it.”
I had never seen anything like the hope, desire, and fight in his eyes between wanting to believe and being too afraid to. After letting out a last breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were making peace with something inside him.
He said, “All right.” “I’ll do it.”
Even though my eyes hurt, I forced a smile to come out.
Vincent joined our lives after that day. He sat in our yard every afternoon and taught my boys orders, consequences, and rewards.
“Adam, use a firm voice, not an angry one.” Simba pays attention to confidence, not fear.
“All right, Ashton, but don’t give my treats too often.” He needs to follow the rules without expecting to be paid.
Adam broke down in tears one day while training because Simba wouldn’t listen. “I’m not strong enough to do this!” “I’m not good enough!”
Vince walked over, and his voice was soft but firm. “Look at me, son.” Do you know why I loved working with Shepherds? Because they’re just like people… Above all, they need someone who believes in them and is patient and understanding. The same way I believe in you.
Simba slowly changed from a hyperactive puppy to a smart, well-behaved dog. What about my boys? They also got stronger and more responsible as they grew.
Oh, and Vincent? He came back to life. His life, which had been empty and lonely before, had meaning, happiness, and something he thought He’d lost forever.
He rolled up to my porch one morning with a book in his hand.
He gave it to me and said, “I wrote this years ago.” “A guide to making Shepherds behave.”
I turned the old pages and read his careful notes that he had written by hand.
With his eyes on Simba, he said, “You gave me back something I thought I had lost.”
It hurt my throat. I said in a whisper, “We should’ve met sooner.”
He said, “Maybe we met at the right time.”
I agreed and swallowed the lump in my throat. Vincent was no longer just a friend. He was family. And just maybe, we had saved each other.
The next year, I was sitting in my car after leaving my kids off at school. I wasn’t looking into nothing this time, though. I saw Vincent in his front yard putting up an agility course for Simba’s training in the afternoon.
Adam sent me a text message that said, “Mom, don’t forget tomorrow is Vincent’s birthday.” Could you do something extra?”
I laughed as I thought about how Vincent had helped Ashton with his history project about military service dogs the week before. He had stayed up late telling stories about his time in the service, his voice full of both pride and pain.
That night, at our weekly family dinner, I saw Vincent laugh out loud at one of Adam’s jokes. The corners of his eyes got wrinkled. He saw Simba lying at his feet, loving and protecting him, just like the lions in the old pictures.
“I used to think God had forgotten about me,” Vincent said as the boys cleaned up. Being in that chair and seeing life go by… I believed I was done. He didn’t forget, though. He was just ready to send me what I needed at the right time.
“What was that?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
With tears in his eyes, he reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Family.” A reason. “Another reason to smile.”
I just nodded with tears of happiness in my eyes. Vince taught us that every end can be the start of something new. That his wheelchair was no longer a jail, but just a place for him to sit at the family table.
What about me? Those early morning times in the car were different. I no longer had to wonder what the point was because I knew it: love was the point. Family was the point. The point was to find your own meaning by helping other people find theirs.
And sometimes the goal was to make a soldier who was hurt smile again.
