A Demographic Missed
For most of my life, I knew exactly where my energies and my fundraising instincts belonged: helping people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, families like mine. That focus was born the minute my son Christopher arrived, teaching me more about love, resilience, and the architecture of care than any textbook could. It led me to start a new career, and I moved into the nonprofit world, where I built beautiful campuses and programs, raised millions of dollars, and spent decades helping one organization find the confidence to dream bigger.
Only in the last few years have I discovered a population I had quietly overlooked when I was asked to serve on the Board of Advisors for the ‘Foundation Assisting Seniors,’ right here in Southern Nevada. That discovery has been humbling and has forced me to ask uncomfortable questions: Why did I, someone who has spent a career serving the most vulnerable, miss an entire generation? And what does it mean now, as I reimagine my continuing consultancy work, that seniors are asking to be seen, heard, and supported?
How I learned the hard way …
A few months ago, I came across a foundation that assists seniors in the most practical, dignity-preserving way imaginable, and I fell in love with their mission. It started simply: I needed to purchase a walker for a friend who was visiting. I asked around, expecting to be pointed to a medical supply store or an online order link. Instead, someone referred me to this remarkable local organization that provides durable medical equipment to people over 50, veterans of all ages, and individuals with disabilities. I drove over, thinking I’d be making a quick purchase. What I found was something entirely different and far more meaningful.
This foundation ‘loans’ equipment free of charge: walkers like the one I needed, wheelchairs, shower chairs, and even hospital beds. Not for a week or two with red tape and fees, just a straightforward, compassionate “Yes, we can help,” exactly when people need it most. And behind it all was a group of hard-working volunteers, led by a full-time volunteer named Vicki. She and her team have built a system that works because they’ve stayed focused on the people on the other end of the need: the person who can’t safely get around without a walker, the caregiver trying to bring someone home from rehab, the veteran who needs equipment quickly, the family trying to avoid a preventable fall. They have quietly been going about this work for nearly 25 years with very little funding, just determination, organization, and a deep sense of responsibility to their community. We must all get behind them
That visit changed me. It reminded me that “help” doesn’t always come in the form of a big program or a complicated initiative. Sometimes the most life-changing support is a simple piece of equipment delivered with kindness, something durable, practical, and immediate that helps someone stay independent, safe, and at home.
If my lovely readers will indulge me, I have a personal request. If you are looking for an amazing charity to support, please volunteer a few hours, care for your neighbors, and take one more small action this week: donate to the Foundation Assisting Seniors.
I visited the Foundation Assisting Seniors to look for a walker. I left with a new understanding of community care and a deep respect for the people who have quietly provided it for decades.
I missed this population for a long time. That admission is uncomfortable but useful. It’s given me a fresh lens to see how communities age and how we can make aging dignified, connected, and supported. Christopher taught me that a small community of care can change a life.