I met this man when I was 20. He changed my life forever.

He appeared to be in his late 70s, and reminisced about his life while in the hospital where I volunteered in my early university years.

My responsibility was to sit with scheduled elderly folks for 20 minute sessions once a week. Making small talk was something I was never talented in, and for some reason pretending simple puzzles were difficult and encouraging bedridden individuals to exercise looked more hopeful. That day, I walked into another grey room and left with new colours. He talked to me about his late wife.

“She was amazing. We did everything together,” he said with a warm smile while seated across me.

“She sounds great. Tell me about her,” I asked. His smile got wider.

“We were best friends. I feel like we traveled the world together. Well, almost.” I believed him.

“That’s literally my dream,” I said. “I want to see as much of the world as I can after paying off university of course.” I chuckled to myself as though that was the only problem I would have after finishing university.

“Well, you should. There should be nothing stopping you. My wife and I lived a normal life, made enough money for our little house and saved the rest just for travel.” He then spoke of some of his highlights – massive battle ships, unexpectedly seeing the Queen and much more. I stared at him in awe as the grey walls disappeared. The clock as well.

“You know, there are people my age sitting at home with thousands sitting in their bank account. What’s the point of that?” He looked disturbed. I shook my head, agreeing with his disgust.

“There’s not much you can do at that age anyway,” I said, immediately regretting it. After ten minutes of conversing with the gentleman, his frown suddenly didn’t seem as wide.

“I miss her.”

My mind went blank as there wasn’t much I could say to change that.

“Do you have any regrets? Anything you wish you could have done?” I slowly shifted up towards the edge of my chair. I don’t know why I asked that, but I did with confidence. He looked back up at me.

“No… no I don’t.”

“Well, I think that’s the definition of happiness,” I said with a smile. I forgot his name but I knew he couldn’t pronounce mine in the first place.

Our 20 minutes was up and I did not want to leave – a rare occasion I must admit. We looked at each other and everything felt better for the both of us.

My words may have helped him that day. But what I left the room with was none.