“What’s that smell?” I ask Tom upon entering our site.

“Mold. Mildew. Wet timber. You name it,” he responds.

Great. That’s what I wanted, to spend the week in this run down home getting rid of a moldy ceiling with rotting timbers as house-supports. Who knows what kind of bacteria will be making a new home in my lungs? As I stand there staring at this hell-hole, I turn to my left just in time to see a man rolling out from the back room in his wheelchair. Why on earth would anyone choose to live here? Nonetheless a man not in the best physical shape!

He approaches Tom to shake his hand. With tears in his eyes, he only says two short words. “Thank you,” and then proceeds to roll himself out of the house.

Can I take back my previous thoughts?

The next morning, I can feel the Espestis in the air and my lungs once we start ripping down the ceiling. The only thing on my mind was Arnol though. Why did he still live here? Where did he go? This air can’t be easy on his lungs.

Once the ceiling is all down and plastic covers the new insulation, it is safe for Arnol to return. At the first moment possible, he was back and eager to help.

Standing on my bucket, holding a full piece of drywall above my head, trying to find the beams to place the screws. This is how I spent the next 4 days. However, the entire time Arnol did not leave my side, and I’m glad he didn’t.

He loved to talk and I loved to listen. It helped the time move more quickly to hear about his life. He did almost every dream job possible. Pilot, roadie, even a missel assembler for the army. He chose to live in the house because it made his wife happy.

Sweat beads form on my face. I can feel my arms begin to shake from exhaustion. Just two more rows. With Arnol watching my every move, I reach for the screws and drill that are just out of my reach. As I contemplate my nonexistent options, Arnol rolls over to my rescue because he knew he was capable of helping. Success. Two hours later, the entire ceiling was covered in dry wall.

At that moment, while admiring my hard work, two hands grasp my free one. “Thank you.” This is the most sincere I have ever heard two simple words said. I knew I had made a difference in someone’s life.