A Passing

There was a guy who stayed at the homeless shelter. I didn't know his name. He was in a wheelchair, although some saw him walk occassionally. I heard stories about him. I don't know if they were true, but it was stuff like he was banned from the library for life. He smoked crack. He abused children. He liked to hang out in front of a children's dance studio. He did sing a country song in chapel about Jesus turning water into wine. He couldn't sing, and it was hard to listen to him sing it.

Last Monday night, he began to sing the song and folks in the chapel starting howling like dogs to drown him out. I was a little embarrassed for him, but he carried on. When he got done, one guy stood up and defended the singer. He said that the others showed a lack of respect. He was right, but he was so mad that he had to go outside and cool off. The staff publicly apologized to him.

Tuesday morning, I got up and passed by his bed. He had not gotten up, and I just said to myself to him that I was sorry for how he was treated the night before. I didn't much care for him, but no one should be treated that way. I went on outside to wait for breakfast to be served. A few minutes later, we got the news. The man in the wheelchair had died sometime during the night. He apparently had a weak heart, and it had given out on him. I can't say that his treatment the night before had caused his death, but there were several people the next day who were feeling a little guilty. And , maybe that was a good thing.