My 90-year-old dad didn't want caregivers in his home. He ended up gaining friends.

My mother and father, ages 95 and 90, respectively, are proud to still live in their own home.

They enjoy a peaceful lifestyle that revolves around simple meals, afternoon trips into the English countryside, and reading the newspaper.

However, their health has inevitably declined.

Dad has had a particularly hard year so far after a heart attack in January.

The condition affected his mobility, making it difficult for him to take a shower, get in and out of bed, and move without a walker.

My sister, 61, who retired early from her job as a nurse to care for my parents, and I became increasingly worried.

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She could do things like cooking and laundry relatively smoothly, but lifting Dad was becoming a problem.

She weighed less than 120 pounds, and her back was under strain.

It was a difficult conversation, but it had to happen. “Jane and I think it’s time to bring in some outside help,” my sister told our parents.

The carers could be very part-time, she suggested, and swing by as needed.

Neither wanted strangers in the house.

Still, they promised to give the matter some thought.

They talked things through with my aunt, my mom’s best friend, and she advised them to give it a shot.

They could always change their minds.

My sister contacted several eldercare agencies in the town.

She asked friends for recommendations and found what seemed like a decent choice.

To our surprise, there was no waiting list.

Dad’s carers could start almost immediately.

Their appointment coincided with my visiting the UK from New York in July, while my sister flew to see her adult son in Canada.

The plan was for me to replace her as the main caregiver for two weeks, with support from the agency’s staff.

Mom, Dad, and I were nervous when Jonathan, the first of the two carers, showed up for his first shift.

We feared the meeting might be awkward.

Jonathan arrived with a beaming smile and literally rolled up his sleeves to get on with the job.

He cracked jokes as he escorted Dad to the bathroom.

He helped him get washed and dressed before sitting him down for breakfast.

Dad, a retired journalist, has an endless curiosity about people.

It wasn’t long before he was asking Jonathan questions about his family, career, and taste in sports.

Within an hour, Dad knew all about Jonathan’s wife, two kids, and parents, who lived in Nigeria, his home country.

Equally, Dad grilled Jonathan’s colleague, Junior, originally from Ghana, who worked about half the shifts.

While less gregarious than Jonathan, he was a kind, thoughtful man.

He treated my father with respect and admiration.

Caring for seniors isn’t easy, but he was clearly suited to the role.

The days went by, and Dad couldn’t say enough good things about both carers.

Mom overcame her reticence and greeted them cheerfully at the door each morning and evening. “Your dad likes to have other men around to talk to,” she told my sister and me.

He’d been outnumbered by women in the house for years, and it was a pleasant change.

One of the most delightful things to have come out of the arrangement was the bond that Dad forged with Junior over music.

Their routine includes listening to jazz on Junior’s Spotify app during his working hours.

He is 65 years younger than my father, but they both sing along to the grainy-sounding tunes from the 1930s and 40s.

It’s been almost two months since the carers entered my parents’ lives.

Everyone agrees that it was the right decision, given the circumstances.

More than that, Jonathan and Junior have shown us that our folks are in the best possible hands.