Some days it seems like the whole world is crying
There are two brothers who lived here already when I moved in ten+ years ago. They’ve lived together for over thirty years. Both are in their fifties. In mid-June, I learned they had been evicted, had to be out by the end of the month. With some input from other residents, their eviction was postponed to the end of July.
They are both big men, tall and broad and gentle, in their fifties. Quiet. The younger one is disabled, mostly, I think, mentally. He also has diabetes. A year or so ago he lost over 100 pounds and now he moves better. I have been paying him to take my trash to the dumpster. I can carry it but my balance is iffy and it’s nearly impossible to open the dumpster lid and swing in a bag of trash without falling. So everybody benefits.
Today I texted him to come by and get his check. He was crying when I opened the door and he said, in a sad broken voice, “Can you talk to me?”
We sat on the bench on my porch and at first he just cried harder. I put my arm around his shoulder and asked what’s going on?
His brother is in the hospital, and has been since Saturday, nearly a week, after a fall at work. He hit his head and at the hospital, they found a severe brain bleed. He’s still unconscious. They initially thought he was brain dead but now they say no. He’s talking but making no sense.
So now M., already wounded in ways most don’t understand, has to navigate an eviction (they’ve generously allowed him eleven more days to stay), the critical and quite possibly fatal injury to his brother and housemate and only close friend, alone. He said he was sorry to bother me but there’s nobody to talk to. Maybe there never will be again.
I held him, wondering when was the last time he’d been touched by anybody. Wondering how I could help. I have no car and little money.
The next time I think I’m having a bad day, I’m going to think about this one. Meanwhile, I can take him meals, and pray.
They are both big men, tall and broad and gentle, in their fifties. Quiet. The younger one is disabled, mostly, I think, mentally. He also has diabetes. A year or so ago he lost over 100 pounds and now he moves better. I have been paying him to take my trash to the dumpster. I can carry it but my balance is iffy and it’s nearly impossible to open the dumpster lid and swing in a bag of trash without falling. So everybody benefits.
Today I texted him to come by and get his check. He was crying when I opened the door and he said, in a sad broken voice, “Can you talk to me?”
We sat on the bench on my porch and at first he just cried harder. I put my arm around his shoulder and asked what’s going on?
His brother is in the hospital, and has been since Saturday, nearly a week, after a fall at work. He hit his head and at the hospital, they found a severe brain bleed. He’s still unconscious. They initially thought he was brain dead but now they say no. He’s talking but making no sense.
So now M., already wounded in ways most don’t understand, has to navigate an eviction (they’ve generously allowed him eleven more days to stay), the critical and quite possibly fatal injury to his brother and housemate and only close friend, alone. He said he was sorry to bother me but there’s nobody to talk to. Maybe there never will be again.
I held him, wondering when was the last time he’d been touched by anybody. Wondering how I could help. I have no car and little money.
The next time I think I’m having a bad day, I’m going to think about this one. Meanwhile, I can take him meals, and pray.
