You see, I have this friend ...

Guest Commentary
May 4, 2008

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We meet all kinds of people in the neighborhood. Most of the time we nod, say "How are you," mumble some acknowledgment and move on. There is not enough time to get to know everyone who passes through our lives. But if we stop long enough to look someone in the eye, hear their story with both ears and heart, then we may experience the wonder of having a friend.

My friend sits in an old, worn-out, high-back chair, which you and I would call uncomfortably broken down. From a nearby window he looks out on a garden, pleasant in spring when flowers and bushes are in bloom. Somewhat grim in winter, except when covered by a fresh snowfall.

His chair faces a tiny restroom with a toilet and a sink. There's space for a few items above the toilet. Above the sink there is a mirror that has begun to lose its reflective powers. This restroom has no place in which to bathe and is hardly a place for resting. Across from the chair sits a small television set placed so closely that long arms could reach the controls from that chair, which like the old man who sits in it most of the day has seen better days.

The door to the restroom stands ajar. It serves as something to hold onto when he launches himself out of the chair to take three often tortuous steps to the toilet when nature calls as it often does these days with little warning for an 85-year-old man whose body is showing signs of wear like the beams in an old farm house. A proud man can lose control and experience the humiliation of aging. And when it happens in the middle of the night, the trip to the restroom is often too far and the urge too late.

One day I found him frozen at the sink, uncertain of where he was or what he was doing. His medicine had run out, and he was feeling the effects. Those responsible for making certain that didn't happen were stuck in the politics of who should make certain he got the medicines he needed. And who was going to pay. In the meantime, my friend stood at the sink in that tiny restroom trying to find the button on his pants. He was confused and afraid.

I helped with the pants. Then I led him to his chair. Those three tortuous steps took what seemed an hour. As he collapsed into his chair, he talked haltingly about the battle to get his caretakers and his doctor on the same page. A family member had confronted the doctor in a scene which had turned loud and ugly. Sometimes the battle for power and control in the face of fear and uncertainty can trump the life of an old man who spends his days wondering which day will be his last.

I've witnessed his journey over the past two years as a fellow traveler. It's possible that I too will walk the path he now treads in measured steps. At one time, my friend was a rough-talking speculator who bought sheep, cattle and land and made his share of enemies. In the process, he disappointed family members, some of whom no longer communicate. The pain of relationships handled badly is etched in a wrinkled face and reflected in eyes that no longer see the horizon clearly. He often talks of betrayal. I tell him betrayal cuts both ways. Then we talk about forgiveness. I tell him that forgiveness cuts both ways as well. He listens, and his clouded eyes grow misty.

Jim Whiting lives in Greeley and visits his friend every Tuesday.