The Keeper of Forgotten Names

The Keeper of Forgotten Names is brought to you by AMERICAN MADE, this is the 8th essay in a series by Maureen Steele, published writer and freedom advocate.

"There are certain people who walk among us quietly, without fanfare, embodying the very essence of what it means to be American. Not in the way of politics or geography, but in the way of spirit. They are the ones who reach out their hands, not out of obligation, but out of a deep and abiding sense of humanity.

They do not wait for the world to be kind. They step forward and make it so. Robin Hodges is one of those people.

I met her in the most unassuming way, sitting alone at a bar, choosing to step out into the world rather than remain in the comfortable solitude of my own space. I went to the sandbar and satellite beach with no expectations, only the desire to listen, to learn and to find some thread of connection in this new place I call home. A pretty blonde lady was sitting with a group of women at the bar, and I asked if I could sit next to her.

I had just met Robin, a woman from Oklahoma with a heart so expansive it spills over into the lives of strangers, turning them into something more, something closer. Robin's mother resides in a memory care unit, a place where the past lingers, even as the present slips away. For many, visiting such a place is an obligation, a painful reminder of what time steals from us.

Children arrive with heavy hearts, searching for recognition and eyes that can no longer offer it. And too often they stop coming altogether. The grief of being forgotten by a parent is too much to bear.

But Robin walks into that place differently. She does not merely go to see her mother. She goes to see everyone.

She walks through the doors with arms full of celebration, balloons for birthdays, small gifts, sweet treats, things that say, I see you, I remember you. You are still here. She knows their names, not just the ones written on their charts, but the ones that live in their stories, the ones they tell of their youth, their loves, their first dances, their first heartbreaks.

She knows their children's names, the names of their lost spouses, the names of the dogs they had when they were 10. And for those who no longer speak their own histories, she carries their dignity for them, holds their humanity in the way she greets them, in the way she touches their hands, in the way she loves them as if they were her own. It would be easy to say that Robin's kindness is rare, but that is not entirely true.

The kindness she embodies is not scarce. It is merely forgotten. It is the way we were designed, the way we were meant to move through the world.

We are divine beings, made of love, meant to love. The divine is not some distant force in the sky. It is in our hands, in our voices, in the way we show up for one another, and Robin, with her open heart and boundless generosity, is a reminder of that truth.

She is starting something, a grassroots effort to spread this practice nationwide, to remind people that love is an action, not just a feeling, that a visit is not a chore, but a blessing, that to sit with someone in their fading days, to hold space for them, is to participate in the sacred. This is what America was built on, not transactions, not divisions, but on neighbors who knew each other's names, on communities that did not allow the old to be forgotten, nor the weak to be discarded, on people who, despite the hardness of the world, chose to be soft. I never expected to meet someone like Robin that night.

I never expected to be reminded in a small tiki bar of the immense power of human connection, but I did, and because of that, I will go forward differently. I will remember that love is in the details, in the pauses, in the willingness to sit and bear witness to another's life, and I will always remember to ask for their name."

Maureen Steele’s passion for the written word is matched by her love of the country she roams. Her descriptive style has promoted and chronicled national movements, including The People’s Convoy where she also journeyed long miles in the cab of a big rig. Contact Maureen Steele of AMERICAN MADE on X @MaureenSteele_
or msteelepa@gmail.com

Eighth in a series of personal essays on hardworking Americans who proudly live and breathe freedom in their lives and their work.

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Contact Maureen Steele: maureensteelepa@gmail.com