There’s an elderly gentleman who works at the local pharmacy store.
He’s bent over and moves slowly. His hair is uncombed and a dull vacancy lurks in his eyes. He’s always there so he must need the money.
His sadness is contagious.
I try to say something kind or friendly to encourage him. Sometimes he perks up momentarily, offering a half smile and faint twinkle in his eye. But then the light goes out again.
Yesterday I was in the park with my dogs.
I came across a woman I have not seen in almost a year. She was with her two small dogs. She was different. Her hair was entirely gray. Her eyes were tired.
There was an aura of melancholy about her.
In the past, she was always with her energetic husband, laughing and walking their dogs regularly in the park. I enquired about him. She looked down for a moment and then told me he was diagnosed with ALS.
“I have to put him to bed before I take the dogs for a walk. Because he falls at home. He needs a walker now. I’m looking into hospice,” she said.
I mentioned that my wife is a hospice nurse, who could answer any questions. We exchanged phone numbers, and I asked her to say hello to her husband for me.
And then she meandered down the pathway like a defeated prisoner of life’s hardships and sorrows.
I wanted to hug her, and tell her she’d be alright. But I don’t know her that well.