I have a confession to make.

A few days ago, a reader asked me if I thought it might be a good idea to take Zinnia and stand outside the windows of the Mansion so the residents could see both of us and know that we are still there and that we care.

I blew her off, busy and harried and reeling from scores of suggestions from good-hearted social media people.

I don’t have a lot of time these days, even being a dread older person of risk.

I wrote that this wasn’t something for me.

Then I woke up last night thinking it very much was something for me.

I have trouble believing I’m important to people; it just doesn’t come easily to me.

But I love my work at the Mansion and have come to know and love many of the residents there.

I know this is a tough time for them, locked inside their assisted care facility, unable to receive visitors, even their family members, and unable to go outside, sit in the sun, take walks, go on outings.

They could be shut in there for a very long time.

They can’t go shopping or to the bank, or picnic in a park, or do the other things that are so important to them. I feel especially helpless now – I can help them from a distance, but not face-to-face.

I’ve arranged for Jean’s Place to cater to three separate and different meals at the Mansion. We’re planning an Amazon Wish List to get them some art supplies and movies.

But I know that to the residents, the most important thing of all when it comes to trust and connection is showing up. It means the world to them that I show up, and that Maria does, and that Red did, and Zinnia does.

So I asked Kassi, the Mansion Director if it was okay for me to come bye with Zinnia at 11 a.m. and just show up,  stand out there for a minute or two and just be seen. Maybe blow a kiss or two.

Kassi (in a mask on the left).  loved the idea.

But still, I was astonished to see so many people crowding against the glass windows of the Great Room, the staff wearing masks, the residents waving and blowing kisses from the window.

They seemed so happy to see Zinnia and me.

When you’re so deep into something, it’s sometimes difficult to see what it means, but this picture shows me what it means.

I was surprised and so very touched, and I amazed myself by crying. I got embarrassed, of course, and flustered  – I’ve never cried in front of any Mansion resident. I just fled.

I got this picture first, perhaps the most meaningful photograph I’ve ever taken, and Melissa Ortiz, a devoted and loving aide,  snapped a photo of me.

The photo shows the emotion of the residents, and the sense I have of them being trapped, for all the best reasons, but still, heartbroken at being so alone. They may not have been forgotten, but I’m sure it feels that way.

Nothing is more painful for them than to be cut off from the outside world and their families and friends and all they know and feel forgotten.

I’d like to be able to explain to them that that isn’t what happened, but I’m sure Kassi and the aides are already doing that.

In this photo, the residents speak for themselves. I asked Kassi if I could come by the Mansion every morning at 11 a.m. with Zinnia and just show up for a minute or two. She said they would love it, and so would I.

(According to the governor of New York State, I can take “solitary” walks alone or with my dog. I think this qualifies.)

I never thought the photograph would have so much power or would affect me so profoundly. Somehow, it brings the troubles of the world into perspective for me, and hopefully, for some of you.

It is a portrait of the sweeping dislocation this virus has brought upon us.

It seems we mean a lot to each other.

We – the Army Of Good and me –  have been working together with the Mansion residents for some time now; this is our story as well as my story.

I’ve forgotten the name of that reader; I owe her an apology and thanks. I should never be too busy to grasp a kind and loving idea.

(You can support my Mansion work through the Amazon Wish Lists we put up or via Paypal, [email protected] or by check, Jon Katz, Mansion/Refugee Fund, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.) And thanks.