April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
REFLECTION
Stories from the soup kitchen
One day he introduced himself to me. His blue eyes were glassy and his face was flushed. He told me that his name was Guy and held out his hand - I thought, to shake mine.
Suddenly, I found him kissing up my arm. Alarmed, I pulled away. I tried to let him know that I wasn't comfortable with that, but he just shrugged and walked away. I was new and had a lot to learn.
Guy had a long struggle with alcoholism. Generally intoxicated, he would often come in and cause mayhem.
On one occasion, I witnessed him asking for a second dessert and, after being told he had to wait until seconds were served, he took one anyway and with boyish glee ran away from the scolding server. His blue eyes twinkled, and for a moment I saw the child within.
Before the holidays last year, we were informed that Guy was the victim of a hit and run and was in critical condition at Albany Medical Center. He languished in the hospital for two weeks, then passed away.
As so often happens with the guests who come into the soup kitchen, most of us really didn't know his story. After he passed away, we came to find out that he had been the father of five children. Years before, in an eerie parallel, his nine-year-old daughter had also been the victim of a hit and run.
She, too, languished in the hospital for two weeks and then passed away. Guy, whose real name was Phillip Lawrence, never got over her death and, after slipping into depression and alcoholism, took to the streets.
I have never forgotten Guy, and his memory continues to remind me of a few important things:
• It is generally people who are in the most pain who cause the most pain.
• It's easy to love people who are sweet and kind and appreciative, and not so easy to love those who are not - yet God loves us especially at our most difficult, when we are most in pain.
• It's easy to pray for the people we love and much more challenging to pray for the people who cause us pain or are more difficult to love - yet sometimes they are the source of our greatest lessons.
• The trivial things we experience that seem overwhelming are nothing compared to the trials of those who suffer hunger and homelessness on a daily basis.
• So many of our fellow human beings are in pain and suffering right in front of us.
It is somewhat fitting that Phillip Lawrence was known to us as "Guy." His story could reflect any one of thousands of stories of people who end up homeless and lost. But he was not simply "a guy." He was someone's son, brother and father.
His memory challenges me to be slower to judge and quicker to love - and to always remember that everyone has a story.
Dan is a small-statured, soft-spoken man with a wry smile and sad blue eyes. He is a guest at the soup kitchen every Monday. He made a point of learning my name when I first began volunteering there, so when he went through the line, he could greet me personally.
He is always polite. He smiles and chats with the other servers, as well. One Monday, after most of the other guests had left, I began to clean the tables. He sat quietly with his coffee, lost in thought. I had the following conversation with him:
"Hey, Dan, how are you?"
"Well, Shari, any answer I could give you would be either trite or maudlin, and I don't want to be either."
I said, "Well, I truly do care about how you are, so I definitely don't want a trite answer. If what you have to tell me is maudlin, I think I can handle it, since I know that at times life can be pretty maudlin."
Dan, smiling sadly, gave no response. A while later, I overheard him telling one of the other servers that he likes to go to the library, so I asked him what kind of books he likes to read.
"I just finished reading 'Julius Caesar' by Shakespeare for the second time."
This surprised me. "So, you like the classics?"
"Yes, but I thought I should read it again given all of the recent political machinations in the world."
I smiled. "What is it they say about those who don't learn from history?"
"'Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it,'" Dan responded.
I thought for a moment. "I can't remember who said it, but it certainly is true."
Dan smiled again: "George Santayana; he was a Spanish philosopher."
After he left, I turned to Jackie, a server who has been there for years. "Wow, he is such an incredibly well-read, intelligent man," I said. "What's his story?"
She said, "I don't know, exactly, but he sleeps at the Empire State Plaza - outside, against the wall".
I swallowed. I now understood why he didn't tell me how he was.
A few weeks later, Dan came in. His face was bruised and scraped. I was afraid to ask, but I did anyway: "What happened, Dan?"
He halfheartedly attempted a smile and, pointing at his face, said, "This is the product of my own folly. I revisited old habits and fell on my face, literally."
I assumed he meant alcohol or drugs. I struggled to think of the right thing to say, but there really was no right thing. Finally, I said gently, "Reminds me of our friend George Santayana."
He smiled sadly and said, "Exactly."
A few weeks after that, Dan came in missing one of his front teeth. My heart sank. He pointed at his missing tooth and simply said, "Tooth decay." I was filled with a mixture of dismay, resignation and relief that it hadn't been the product of a binge or a brawl.
Last Monday, Dan came in, and before I could think better of it, I asked, "How are you doing today, Dan?"
His sigh was almost inaudible, but suddenly he looked at me with a genuine smile and said, "You know, Shari, whenever I get to come here and see all of you, it's a good day."
The volunteers serving at the Sister Maureen Joyce Center have been reflecting God's love and compassion to those in need for many years. It has been a blessing to join in their efforts.
People like Dan might never find their way back from addiction or homelessness; but, at least for a few hours a week, they are nourished, offered compassion and dignity, and reminded that they are valued human beings.
(Ms. Schillinger is a volunteer at the Sister Maureen Joyce Center and a board member for Catholic Charities. Contact the center at 465-8262.)[[In-content Ad]]
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