My job as a courier for a package delivery company takes me to many places every day. Depending on the route I’m doing, some days I go to lots of businesses, and you get to know the people on a first name basis. You know the stops that can be difficult, the packages usually heavy and plentiful. You get to know which stops the people are friendly and which stops their miserable. And, of course you get to know which stops have the cute receptionist that is willing to sign for the packages. I might linger at those stops a little longer, ask them about their weekend or their family. Some days I have a lot of residential deliveries, the stops unmemorable unless there’s an aggressive dog there. I’ve been bitten twice, most of the people I work with have been bitten at least once, and we all remember those houses.
I occasionally have deliveries for senior citizen, assisted living facilities. In the elevators there is usually a posting of the activities for the week. It’s usually a rotation of bingo, chair exercises, movies and sing along nights. I silently think to myself that I’d rather be dead than live in one of those places, but I’m sure the people who are living there never thought they would end up there, but age and circumstances led them there. For most people there, it’s probably the best thing for them and once you accept that fact you can get on with living.
A few years ago I had a delivery to one of these places. It was early afternoon, just after lunch time, the dining room was empty, the tables cleared as I walked toward the kitchen where I heard the workers conversing loudly over the sound of dishes being washed. I almost missed him as I walked past, but there was a solitary older gentleman sitting by himself at a table looking out the window. All the other residents had left the dining room, some were probably doing some afternoon activity like crafts or playing cards, others were probably watching TV and napping. He was the only one in the dining room and he was just looking out the window, he didn’t see me as I walked by either time, once on my way to the kitchen and then on my way back. He never moved , he just sat there looking out the window.
I’ve often wondered what he was thinking, alone with his thoughts on a random Tuesday afternoon. The romantic in me likes to think that he was remembering a long ago lover and their short but passionate love affair. He thinks about her in quiet moments and softly says her name out loud so he doesn’t forget it, he wonders whatever happened to her and mostly he wonders if she still thinks of him as he thinks of her.
Or he might have been thinking he wished he had a dog to take for a walk on such a beautiful day. He’d take it to a park and let it off it’s leash and let it run around freely, perhaps he’d have a ball to throw to him and the dog would bring it back enthusiastically.
Maybe he was thinking he wished he still had a car and he could just go for a ride, maybe he’d end up at the beach and he’d watch the sunset into the lake. Then he’d drive to the local ice cream stand and get a banana split with whipped cream and eat it quickly before the ice cream melted.
Perhaps he was thinking about his time in the service, the friends he made, how they promised to be friends for life. Some of those friends never made it back and he thinks about them every day.
I think about this older gentleman every time I have a delivery to one of these places. I wished I would have stopped, I had a couple of minutes, heck I probably had 5 minutes. I could have stopped and asked him his name and how is day was, maybe ask him what his career was or if he had any advice for a young guy. What struck me the most was the absolute silence of the place. It was so silent I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, the endless march of time.
As the years have gone by I wonder if I really saw him, was he really there or was he a figment of my imagination, or perhaps I was seeing myself years in the future.
Thought for the day…
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?
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