a heavy life.
He said his name was John.
We noticed him across the street, standing next to a pile of trashcans, hands in pocket, hood over his head. As we started crossing, I thought I saw him look up at us, but then he quickly averted his gaze. But when we went up to him and introduced ourselves, and moreover when we gave him a bag of food, his solid, stubbled face broke into a smile.
He told us his story.
He said that he used to be in the army. But when he looks back on those years, those times that he thought were ‘hard’, compared to now it seems like a far away vacation. He also said he worked as a plumber, but when he lost his job, he lost everything. It only took 3 months. Living alone (he said his wife had died), meeting the rent for an apartment is near impossible with one meager, minimum-wage income. He was sixty years old; two years away from retirement. He said that when he dies in two years, he’ll finally get his paycheck.
During the day, he says he walks through the street, thinking to himself. And sometimes, he’d cry. A woman once asked him why he was crying; he replied “Because I have to.” He wishes there were times he could talk to people besides just himself. And God. So it makes him so happy that we’re there to listen. Every night there’s chapel, held at the rescue missions where they give them hot soup. It’s the same soup, vegetables, but it’s hot. And that’s the only thing that matters.
So we prayed together, holding hands, praying to give him hope and faith and something to help him through this “very heavy life”. That’s what he kept saying, over and over. He smoked, yes. The cheapest $2 cigarettes he could find; but you have to smoke when you live such a “heavy life”. But regardless, after we finished praying, he hugged us one by one, saying “God bless you.” And after he crossed the street to walk into the rescue missions line, he waved back to us, and blew kisses.
It hurts me so much that there’s nothing more I could do.
So I want to make a promise to myself that when I grow up; when I have the resources to make a difference—I want to. For people like John, and all the others like him.
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