How Janneke touched Poléanne’s heart with her care
Every day, our colleagues leave a lasting impression - on the world, on our clients, and on each other. These moments are a treasure chest of untold stories, waiting to be shared. This time, Poléanne spends a day shadowing Janneke, a dedicated home care worker. It’s a touching morning filled with music, tears, and profound appreciation.
It’s early in the morning as we get into the car. My usual day is packed with meetings, but today I’ll be shadowing my colleague Janneke in home care. “This morning, we’re visiting five clients,” Janneke begins. “We always stick to a strict schedule, though not necessarily in a specific order. Except for one client: Mr. Pietersen. We always visit him last.”
Mr. Pietersen is 90 years old and lost his wife three months ago, after 60 years of marriage. Less than a month later, he also lost his daughter, who was so attached to her mother that she died of grief. “At the end of the morning, I’d like you to wake him up,” Janneke tells me. “But it won’t be easy.”
A gentle wake-up call
As soon as I step into Mr. Pietersen’s house, I’m surrounded by photos and memories of him and his loving family. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I walk to his bedroom and turn down the blaring radio. My first attempt: I gently tap him and shake him awake. But instead of greeting the day, he pulls the blanket tighter over himself. After several tries—shaking, tapping, whispering—I realize I’m not getting anywhere. I call for Janneke.
With care and compassion, she manages to coax him out of bed. There he stands: 90 years old, wearing a diaper, lost in a world he no longer wants to be part of. Janneke sees the sorrow and confusion in his eyes. She lovingly takes his hand and helps him wash. After completing his care, she glances nervously at the clock. We’re already running late. Yet, she asks him, “Would you like to sing us a song?”
Front row
To my surprise, he doesn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure,” he says, reaching for his guitar. “But you’ll need to take a seat.”
Earlier, Janneke had told me he used to own a music shop and spent his life making music. “This is a song for a girl from Apeldoorn I met more than 70 years ago. When I was helping out during the war, she stayed behind at home,” he explains.
He begins to play, and the song immediately touches us. For a moment, Mr. Pietersen loses himself in his love for music. With tears in my eyes, I look at this man. After the last note, he smiles softly and says, “I know a few more songs—but you’ll have to sing along.” And so, at 8 a.m., the three of us are singing Het kleine café aan de haven.
All-changing minutes
That morning, we go through several more Dutch classics. Time no longer seems to matter to Janneke. On the way back, she says, “This is why we visit Mr. Pietersen last. That little moment of happiness we give him by staying 10 or 20 minutes longer is worth everything to us.”
I look at Janneke. Her personal, genuine attention moves me deeply. She knew that her first client’s neighbour had just had puppies, that her handicrafts was a hit at bingo in the town hall, and that her third client’s great-grandchild had passed their exams. We even stopped by the food bank to pick up a package for a client who could no longer manage it themselves.
I hope that when I’m as old as Mr. Pietersen, I’ll have a Janneke to brighten my days. It’s care workers like Janneke who make a difference every single day. And for that, all I can do is bow deeply in gratitude.
