They complained about the food. Lumpy or watery oatmeal, no salt, pepper, sugar, butter or margarine to give it some flavor. Hard, stale bread and weeks old cookies or sugary donuts were a routine part of every meal. They complained about coffee actually being chicory and perhaps a packet of sugar would be doled out with watery powdered milk to dilute the bitter mixture. Little cartons of milk were often sour. Mass cooked eggs were a favorite as were the little sausages severed with them, even though heartburn was often an after affect of eating them. It was not unusual to see flies buzzing around the food as one waited to get served. Coach roaches scurrying across the floor in broad daylight made meals a horror.
Then I would come along and say something like, "Well it is better than nothing". It is amazing what people will eat when they are starving. Some homeless people claim to grab pigeons, kill and roast them. Mouth watering, some homeless people grab food off a store shelf and slip it quickly under their coat. Some do eat what they find in the trash. "McDonald's throws out all the unsold food after closing" they will say, and it does not seem to matter that non-food trash is in the black, plastic garbage bag they pulled from the dumpster. Food and eating is just one of the things homeless people get miserable and grumble about. Albert, hanging with other homeless people daily, must have gotten tired of listening to it.
Albert had a ready smile for everyone. He told jokes to make people laugh and forget about their misery for a moment. He was generous; when he had something he shared it. He respected the ladies and they were all drawn to him. He liked "old time rock and roll" and used to play in a band. Now he played air guitar. He also sang sweet love ballads that he wrote. He never quite believed me when I told him his songs could be hits. He did not talk about the miserable conditions of being homeless, except in passing. "Did you sleep well last night?" might elicit a response of some new aches and pains or getting rousted by the cops at 3AM. The story he told that I most remember was this:
Back then the legal drinking age was 18. He went out to celebrate his 18th birthday with friends. He arrived home to find his draft notice. He went right from High School graduation to Viet Nam. He often wondered: "What if?", what might have happened in his life if he had not been forced to go to war. He did not spend much time on details of that experience, he simply drank to forget. The last time I spoke to Albert he was telling me about the Winter Shelter. It had just opened and not crowded. The food was great. After that he was no longer sitting on a wall by the library. I missed seeing his smile and hearing him tell me, as always, "You make my heart sing." We would chat for a few moments, exchange a hug and go off in different directions.
When another homeless cat told me about the guy that had a stroke or seizure at the Winter Shelter, he insisted: "You know Al", and described him, "Long, white hair". That could describe a number of homeless people and I searched my brain for Al's I know that fit it. So it was that I did not know it was Albert that had to be rushed to the hospital until several weeks later. I recalled one of our conversations when Albert was not his usual happy self. He said he was tired of living like this. My first thought was that he was willing himself to die. I visited him in the hospital that week.
In a coma, his face bloated so that I barely recognized him, I chatted away. I have always read that people in comas can hear or sense those around them. I thought I was paying my last respects, but months later he is still alive. He was taken off the machine that did his breathing for him. Even though he is a Vet, no one was able to find his family members. Searches could not locate his ex-wife or his daughters. I wonder if he is able to think and remember. If he can, I bet he is thinking he would rather be back out there on the streets in the company of miserable people than in that hospital bed. My heart will always smile when I think about Albert.
When you see your child, parent, sibling, partner or other loved one today, make sure you remember to tell them, "You make my heart sing", because we truly never know when those might be the last words spoken to those we love.
Self published at Associated Content on August 30, 2007
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