(warning: meaningless wall of text inbound) When I worked for the ambulance company, there was a this really cool old guy I used to drive to dialysis. He needed an ambulance to get there because hed lost a couple fingers, and most of one leg, to diabetes. I say pictures of him when he was young. In his thirties, the man was nearly six foot, and probably upwards of two twenty. That was a world ago. I used to lift him out of his bed by myself, and never broke a sweat doing it. He never said a word about it...even though I knew every time he felt smaller and smaller because of it. Maybe he was, he kept getting lighter. He was a member of an all-black biker gang during the sixties. He was a bad dude, and did some bad things. He never said what they were, and he tried to act like he moved on. Some part of him didnt. We used to talk about how once my girlfriend at the time was done college, Id have some money to buy a bike, and Id make sure to get one with a sidecar so he could go for a ride one more time. He used to talk about when he was young. He said he only owned three shirts growing up. His momma used to tell him he couldnt wear more than one at a time anyway, and anything more than three times what you need is just mislaid priorities. Ill never know the world he lived in. Ill never need to know the courage it took for him to grow up, to live in a world that was always against him, and fight for what little he had until his own body even took that from him. Theres not a lot of people I miss in this world. Sure, theres a lot of people that arent in my life anymore- some by their choice, some by mine, some by neither. Theres not a lot of them I think about though. Not a lot of them that loosing has made me angry. Not a lot I feel honestly deserved a better stake in life than what they got. Why does it still get to me? I guess hed say it was just mislaid priorities.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Sep 2014 10:05:52 +0000