Just this morning I reread this post from a few months back regarding a man from the neighborhood who had lost his son to a lengthy illness.  I haven't seen him since that evening and I was wondering to myself how he was doing.  This afternoon, after giving "dog" a much needed bath, I decided to go for an extra long walk so we could both dry off.
And there the man was, doing some landscaping on one of the big houses on Lanier.
It's been just over 4 months since his boy passed away and I happened to bump into him that night.
Do you ever wonder if something else is at play when these things happen?

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Tuesday, June 30, 2015

I had planned to write a long piece today. One that I've been thinking about for some time.
One in which I cohesively dissemble and then carefully reassemble national and world politics as seen thru the perspective of the anti-smoking campaign that really went full tilt in the mid-'80's.
It was to be my political "cold-fusion" polemic masterpiece.
Yeah.
That damn good.
I've been collecting opinions and editorials like an old woman on Hoarders for the past few months.
Bits of economics stacked over here, dried up pieces of crime and punishment over there, a corner gone moldy with religious diatribes and historical analyses, an entire closest of various graphs and charts concerning immigration, equality, race, and reams of failed legislation.
Not to mention the all important quotes from luminaries as far ranging as John the Baptist to Jack Kerouac, from Churchill to Mother Theresa, and back thru Keats and Kesey.

But then I went for a walk with "dog" and somewhere around the 3rd song on The Gin Blossoms debut album a man wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt pulled up beside me on his scooter:

"I met you last year. You were really nice to me and my son on a couple of occasions. I just wanted to let you know that he had a lot of health problems for a long time, and we buried him the day before yesterday. "
"I'm not even sure why I'm telling you. I guess you were just nice to me and I wanted you to know."
"Anyhow...."

And then he rode off.

I wish I had been able to think of something more "something" than - I'm really sorry for your loss.
If ever I've felt a moment of complete uselessness, it was then.

There were moments when I was sick that I found it easier to express my feelings to people I had little to no ties to.
I'm not sure what that is or what it says about me.
It's a weird thing - to be sick or suffer some immense loss like that.
Early on, when I had just received my diagnosis, I was working across town for a small printing company when the owner, Marie, asked me what had happened, why was I wearing the eyepatch(?)
And for some reason I just sat down and unburdened myself.
She was gracious and I was tremendously embarrassed by it but still relieved in some small way when I was done.

Maybe that was what this man needed tonight - to be momentarily unburdened from his loss.

Wish I had had something more profound to offer him than, "I'm really sorry."