I met a man today. His name was Carl. He was standing at the entrance to Walgreens, the rubber tip of his cain poking at the glass automatic door. He had on a white t-shirt, khaki shorts and a white baseball cap.
My head was like a balloon tethered to my neck with only a string. I had a few minutes before the Bible study was to begin at the new church Activity center only a short mile away. I was on a mission for a medication to get me grounded enough to deliver the teaching I was due to give in an hour.
There are two automatic doors to Walgreens. Carl was on the left and I naturally went to the right. I don’t know what made me slow down enough to see his cane jabbing at the glass door. My head was in a fog and I was on a mission. For all I knew he was leaving Walgreens. I walked through the automatic doors and then went to his side so that the doors would open for him. He shoved the cane across the invisible barrier so the automatic doors wouldn’t shut.
That’s when I saw him shake. “Can I help you?” I said.
Surprised, he tilted his head up so he could see me beyond the bill of his cap. “Yes, if you can keep this door from shutting I’m trying to get inside.”
I stepped back but kept my hand on the rim of the glass door so it wouldn’t shut. Carl’s free hand clutched the rim of the door above mine and the hand holding the cane shook. He stood there for a moment and it seemed as if he was stuck.
“I’m,” the words caught in his throat, “I have Parkinson’s.”
“Okay,” I said matter of fact and reached for the hand that was clutching the edge of the glass door. “I’ll help you.”
We locked eyes and in his I could see the brewing mixture of humility, pride, sadness and relief. His hand slid off the edge of the door into mine. With careful steps we inched further into the store.
Two feet from where we began he stopped. If he could stand to his true height he would easily hit over 6′. He looked down at me, the bill of his cap sat low so he would have to tilt his head up just a bit to see me. “It might take some time,” he said still baring his weight into my hand.
I smiled. “That’s okay. I have time,” I said.
Two women were at the register, the cashier and a customer. I could see from the corner of my eye they were looking at us but I didn’t want him to notice we had an audience. “Where do you need to go, let’s go. I’ll walk with you,” I said to him as if he were my own father.
The hand that grasped mine shook. “I’m just going right there,” he jabbed his cane in the air toward the registers but I thought he was pointing to the photo department.
“Okay,” I said and turned in the direction of his cane.
A few more deliberate steps were taken and he stopped again, just a few feet short of the register. I looked up at him and smiled.
He brought my hand in close to his side and said, “Why do you think God would give me this awful disease?” This time his eyes pleaded.
Stunned by the sudden vulnerability of everything the question implied I placed my free hand on his arm, “I wish I knew the answer to that question. My husband has MS and I’ve gone through my own afflictions and all I can say is that bad things will keep happening but it’s how we respond that matters. We try to focus on the blessings.”
The women were still looking over at us and the man had his eyes trained on mine. For that split second I felt as if whatever had just spilled from my lips would either fuel or soothe his frustration.
Seconds passed and I broke the silence. “I can tell you are a good man. Parkinson’s doesn’t change that.”
His smile began in his eyes and slowly reached his lips. He turned toward his destination and we inched a few more steps forward. “Okay, my stuff is right here. I had left my wallet in the car.” He let go of my hand and turned it over for me to shake it. “Carl,” he gave me his full name.
“Shannon Deitz,” I said. He reached across me and grab a few things that were sitting by the vacant register. “Thank you for your help. I’m glad I met you today,” he said.
“The same to you,” I said and left him there with the women that were still voyeurs into our chance meeting. In the Pharmacy department I grabbed the medicine I’d come for and went back to the register. Carl was gone but I could see he had only made it outside the doors. However, the women were still there. The lady that was checking out was talking to the woman manning the register. When I walked up the customer said, “What you said to him was nice.”
I shrugged and said, “Yeah, well, I know what it’s like to live through hard times. I’m a rape survivor and I have Lupus.”
Both women gasped. Sometimes I forget how easy it is for me to say what I’ve gone through but how hard it might be to hear.
I continued without missing a beat. “I guess the way I see it is this life we are living is short. Sometimes we don’t know how short it will be and what we are really living for is to be in heaven where we wouldn’t have to suffer with diseases and tragedy. So I try to live my life to make sure I’m in heaven when it’s all over.”
Both ladies nodded in agreement and the customer smiled. “You are so right,” she said before leaving.
The cashier rang up the medicine and said, “You know my daughter has MS. I heard you said your husband does too. Both of you are going through all of that?”
“Yeah, well, I think at times we get caught in denial because I’m in remission and his attitude is so amazing we forget that he has MS. That is until he gets overheated or overextend himself then it messes with his body and we realize we can’t be so care free to forget.”
She nodded in agreement. “My daughter can’t handle the heat well either but she has a great attitude. It seems to help.”
It was my turn to agree. “It’s amazing the power a positive attitude can have on our life.” I turned to leave.
“Thank you again,” she called out.
I turned and waved.
My quick trip to the corner store turned into a 15 minute Just Show Up moment. Rain or shine, healthy or ill, trained or unqualified, we are always on call. 😉
Blessings
Shannon
