When I entered the shelter foyer
today, a young blonde woman stared at me from inside the locked door. I
smiled. I waved. She stared some more. Finally, she decided it might be safe to
let me in. I introduced myself, and she told me she'd never worked that shift
before. She's an odd one, but then that's about all we get as gatekeepers. By
noon, she had left, and Lanyard Guy replaced her. I hadn't seen him in months!
Apparently, he's good for the long haul, but I hear no rave reviews about his
work…
Being there today felt like
Saturday to a school-age kid, or a holiday, because I missed it so last
week. I had a small cancer removed, and the procedure put me abed for a week,
but that was nothing, and my prognosis is perfect health. Then again, we
don't have crystal balls, which I count as a great blessing… and I'll tell you
why.
Doug had a pall over him when I stepped
into the kitchen. I was expecting to be greeted excitedly, but he was solemn.
He and his family have been charged with pulling the plug on a sister who had a
brain hemorrhage this week. He's being very stoic about it, and he brought his
teenage daughter to help out today—she too is bearing up well, tho he tells me
this is a severe loss for the child.
Downstairs, we are housing a man
with lung cancer who has been given 6 months to live. He is being
"treated" with chemo, and is too ill to come to the dining room. He
alone is allowed to have food in his room. This is not how or where
any of us envisions our last 6 months.
As if he didn't have enough on
his heart, Doug would not let me do very much of the lunch prep. Miss Lillian
had told him to clean out the fridge, so he was serving chicken gravy (with
bits of chicken) over spaghetti. On the side, we had broccoli and English peas,
biscuits and fruit cocktail. No one complained. The two latecomers had to take
a sack lunch. I enjoyed working the serving counter with Doug's daughter, and
teaching her what little I know about the job. I spent a lot of time pointing
out to her the personalities that were coming to lunch, and the disparity
between the two groups. Oddly, our pre-release were very quiet today—even Big
Jack. He greeted me several times, but his jocularity was completely missing.
Our homeless, on the other hand,
were cheerful and in abundance. Boy #1 hasn't been seen all week, but Boy #2
was at lunch and enjoyed getting his goodies. That is surely "the sweetest
child." We have another new "child," an old-looking man of great
girth and awfully pale skin. He has a cane, and I held my breath as he worked
his way to a table with his meal. Could I help him? "No, thanks. I've got
it," he replied cheerfully. Where does he find his cheerful?
It was a bit difficult standing
on my feet for 2-1/2 hours, after being so lazy for 2 weeks, but when it was
over, I realized that I had no aches or pains, save those in my heart. I took
Doug aside as I was leaving. "THIS is why I spent money I don't have on a
baby grand piano," I said. "Don't neglect your bucket list."
"Oh, I won't!"
he assured me.
I hugged him hard. "I love
you."
"I love you too," he
said.
And we do. In some odd way, it's just the
pits to get so connected to others, but what else can we do?
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