I can't imagine a life without friends or animals, without someone to talk to. The rehab center is superficially cheerful enough, but it's still a rehab center with suffocating structure, rules, tasteless food and indifferent staff. He's just one more paralyzed and uncooperative patient, one more burden, lonely, dangerously depressed and dying by inches. His body, mind and soul are atrophying day by empty day and this desperate plea to turn things around leaves me stricken - I have no fix for this, quick or otherwise. In my heart, I suspect he will never leave this ugly and barren place and though I played no role in his ending up here, guilt tears at me - for not visiting, for not having a solution, for not wanting to take this tragedy on. Seeing my old and dear friend like this is too painful and too hard and privately I rage at his daughter for her detachment and condemn his wife for her temper, her lack of compassion, her own mental illness and her violence toward him. I am not responsible, I tell myself - this broken, battered man is someone I don't know.
But if not me, I wonder, then who. His doctor barely knows his name, his therapist is well intentioned but only sees him once a week, government health care has failed him, his mind is deteriorating and his body has turned traitor. There is no insurance to pay for home health care or physical therapy or the proper medications and I have no standing in this sad drama, no means to help.
For myself, I fear getting caught in the undertow and drowned if I get too close - it makes me feel as if I'm being selfish - in the last year and a half he's lost everything, job, independence, family, home, self respect and hope, the ability to walk, think, remember or feed himself. It's unbearably sad and unfair. This is a time for faith, I tell myself, for trusting that somehow it will all turn out for the best - the disillusioned side of my nature doesn't buy this for a second - but the side that hates giving up, the stubborn side, still fights to believe. Then, like a small miracle, I stumble upon a name - a counselor, ordained minister, and recovering alcoholic, a man I used to know who helped me through rough times and who still offers private therapy, a man of God and AA and above all, faith. I call him and he agrees to see Henry, if Henry will call him and ask for his help. He reminds me that he also hosts free and open self help meetings on Wednesday nights and that all are welcome - it's then that I remember I have a friend whose son drives an independent taxi, certainly there would be room enough for a wheelchair - and I email her on the spot. Finally, I send another email to Henry's daughter, detailing what I've done and explaining that her mother will have to assume the financial responsibility if she decides to pursue any of this. Her reply is a non committal and detached, a little vague and not too promising - she's not at all sure her mother will want to pay for counseling or taxis, but you never know. I realize this is the best I'm going to get and I let it go.
It feels good to have done something positive for someone I love without becoming entangled. I tuck the name and telephone number of the minister and the taxi driver into my pocket, I'll deliver them this very night. It's a small enough trail of breadcrumbs and it may or may not be followed - but I've left it and that's enough. A few days later, I sit up and take notice when I realize I didn't do it for Henry or to do a good deed,
I did it for me and I'm well pleased with myself. It takes small steps and good light to follow your own trail of breadcrumbs.
For myself, I fear getting caught in the undertow and drowned if I get too close - it makes me feel as if I'm being selfish - in the last year and a half he's lost everything, job, independence, family, home, self respect and hope, the ability to walk, think, remember or feed himself. It's unbearably sad and unfair. This is a time for faith, I tell myself, for trusting that somehow it will all turn out for the best - the disillusioned side of my nature doesn't buy this for a second - but the side that hates giving up, the stubborn side, still fights to believe. Then, like a small miracle, I stumble upon a name - a counselor, ordained minister, and recovering alcoholic, a man I used to know who helped me through rough times and who still offers private therapy, a man of God and AA and above all, faith. I call him and he agrees to see Henry, if Henry will call him and ask for his help. He reminds me that he also hosts free and open self help meetings on Wednesday nights and that all are welcome - it's then that I remember I have a friend whose son drives an independent taxi, certainly there would be room enough for a wheelchair - and I email her on the spot. Finally, I send another email to Henry's daughter, detailing what I've done and explaining that her mother will have to assume the financial responsibility if she decides to pursue any of this. Her reply is a non committal and detached, a little vague and not too promising - she's not at all sure her mother will want to pay for counseling or taxis, but you never know. I realize this is the best I'm going to get and I let it go.
It feels good to have done something positive for someone I love without becoming entangled. I tuck the name and telephone number of the minister and the taxi driver into my pocket, I'll deliver them this very night. It's a small enough trail of breadcrumbs and it may or may not be followed - but I've left it and that's enough. A few days later, I sit up and take notice when I realize I didn't do it for Henry or to do a good deed,
I did it for me and I'm well pleased with myself. It takes small steps and good light to follow your own trail of breadcrumbs.
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