In the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time walking the halls of the Mansion, a Medicaid assisted care facility in Cambridge, N.Y., talking to people at the edge of life.

I’ve lost count of how many have moved on – often quite suddenly and unexpectedly – to nursing homes or funeral homes. It used to chew me up to find the empty rooms of people I’ve been talking to and photographing over and over.

Volunteers are appreciated, but nobody calls them when somebody leaves or dies, we are the last to know.

I’ve had some powerful friendships and intimate conversations in the quiet afternoon hours of assisted care; the Mansion is a loving place, but at times, also a lonely place.

I’ve found over time that every resident has something that truly matters to them, that defines or identifies them.

Joanie sang and danced, Donna Crocheted,  Mark loved baseball, Georgia loved to smoke and play cards, Sylvie her members of Europe after World War II.  Peggie loves her children and grandchildren and stuffed bears and cats, Madeline her crossword puzzles, Charlie his fly fishing.

I found in these conversations that I could always find something that people really cared about, something that would lift them and reaffirm their dignity and connection with the world.

This is always what I try to do- lift their spirits and hearts up with things that matter.

This is important because everyone who lives in that place is edging closer to the end and knows it, and time is precious and full of meaning.

I’ve known Ruth for several years now; she is often moody and silent and capable of bursting into song and dance at the drop of a hat.

Mostly I’ve gotten to know her through her need for special size clothing. I’ve become an expert on the construction and quality of sports bras, something I would never have to know about if not for the Mansion.

Ruth also is in love with bubble gum.

She loves it; it calms her, soothes her, inspires her, lifts her. Every time I saw her, she asked me for bubble gum, and every time I would run over to the nearby local grocery and get the only kind they had, a five-pack. Bubble gum, it turns out, is out of vogue these days and not easy to get.

I didn’t see Ruth for the past year, I wasn’t allowed in, and she wasn’t allowed out.  I thought about her often, wondering how she was getting along without her beloved bubble gum.

This week, I walked into the Mansion, and I  heard her shout from across the room: “Hey, come here!”

Ruth and I butt heads sometimes; she can be imperious and try to order me around. I resist politely, shouting back as softly and pleasantly as possible, “please come here if you want to see me.” It’s a dignity thing.

Ruth did get up and come over to see me. She said she wanted to see Zinnia, but she paid no attention to Zinnia. She beckoned me to come close and looked around to see if anyone could be listening.

“Hey,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper (she never mentions my name), “could you get me some bubble gum? You told me a couple of years ago that you would help me get things I needed if I asked.”

I listened carefully, and I asked her why she was whispering. Bubble Gum didn’t seem controversial to me. She just shrugged.

“Will you get me some?”

“Yes,” I said, and I went to three different stores, including the grocery. Even the convenience stores didn’t have bubble gum. I got out my Iphone and went on Amazon. I found a box of bubble gum right away – “60 pieces” and ordered it.

This morning, it came first thing in the morning, and I dropped it off at the Mansion with a note on it that said, “For Ruthie. Good chewing.”

A few hours later, Tania Woodward, a hard-working and loving Mansion aide, sent me this photo of Ruth via text message. She said Ruth was very happy and smiling again.

The photo said just about everything. Nobody has been able to see Ruth h smile for a  long time. It’s the small things, really, so often it’s the small things.

The small acts of great kindness.