13 Years and a Million Universes

A Letter from Mel Watson

Some journeys begin with grand plans. Others begin quietly—on a back road, during a dog walk, with a conversation that lasts just a little longer than expected.

That’s how this story begins.

14 years ago, or so, I met Roy Foster standing at his mailbox. Cane in hand, fedora on his head, a giant truck parked behind him, Roy was a WW11 veteran, an artist, a master woodcarver, and a gifted storyteller. We started talking, and in that easy, human way that matters most, a friendship was born.

Not long after, Roy invited me to lunch with his mates at Island Senior Resources.

The moment I walked through the doors, something surprised me. The space felt deeply familiar—not in a logical way, but in my bones. It took time to understand why. As a child, I often went to work with my mum, who was a caregiver in a nursing home. I spent hours sitting with residents, talking, making crafts, listening to stories, and sometimes sneaking off for a walk along the beach. I was nine or ten years old. I especially remember Mrs. Jacobs, who used a wheelchair and whom I adored. Those early experiences taught me something lasting: presence matters, and connection changes lives.

That sense of belonging returned the day I sat down for lunch beside Roy.

That lunch became a weekly ritual. And through those lunches, a community slowly revealed itself—one built on care, humor, resilience, and shared humanity.

In time, I noticed a day program meeting across the room, supporting caregivers and individuals living with dementia, Parkinson’s, and other cognitive conditions. Around the same time, I saw a job posting that spoke about creativity, dignity, and the power of music to reach people when other pathways fall quiet. In the fine print, it stated that Island Senior Resources does not discriminate based on race, gender, or sexual orientation. I remember thinking, This might be the place I could be.

In 2013, after a lifetime as a touring musician, I applied. It was my first “real” job.

What followed was anything but normal.

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of serving in many roles, each one expanding my understanding of this organization and deepening my respect for the people who make it thrive. Especially in recent years—through the pandemic, through change, through moments that asked for steadiness and care—we have shown what it means to hold one another and our mission at the center.

Today, when I look around, I see something remarkable.

I see strong, thoughtful leadership. I see teams working with clarity, compassion, and collaboration. I see systems strengthened, trust rebuilt, and an organization that is not only stable, but growing into its future with intention and heart. For the first time in a long while, I feel absolute confidence in what lies ahead.

Because of that, I am joyfully closing this chapter of my time as a staff member at Island Senior Resources.

This is not a goodbye rooted in loss, but a transition grounded in hope. It is stepping aside knowing the roots are deep, the people are extraordinary, and the future is bright.

When things are quiet and I walk through our shared spaces, I feel what I can only describe as one million universes colliding—each person served, each colleague, each story a world unto itself. Every connection has left an indelible imprint on my heart. My life is fuller because of this place, and because of the people within it.

All of it traces back to a man in a fedora, a simple invitation to lunch, and a quiet yes that changed everything.

Some journeys unfold gently.

And sometimes, those gentle beginnings carry us exactly where we’re meant to be.

My last day as a staff person at ISR is Friday, March 13^th. After that, you will see me volunteering as an instructor at SAIL fitness classes.

Mel Watson
Director, Aging and Disability Resources