There is a man in a hospital room tonight. I'm the only one who knows he's there.
I don't know his whole story. I know bits and pieces, stories, photos. He had two children, maybe more. His parents loved him and wanted to see him succeed. He married one of the most beautiful, creative, loving people I know. He hurt her. He hurt himself. He left his children. He found drugs, maybe for fun. Maybe to take away some of the pain of life. He used them in the same way we all use things or do things to cope. If we're lucky, those things will be healthy and help us keep our balance...
This man fell in love again, moved to the West coast, and lived. And then the woman he loved died and took with her a big part of him. What do we do when people we love are suddenly gone? Cope. For him, that meant drugs.
Until it didn't.
Another round of rehab, and he lands on his feet in the mountains. Alone. Really, truly, there is no one left in his life alone. So there's this man who's clean and in the mountains with no one and no things. Homeless. Homeless is a cold place with shelters that are too full to take everyone.
That's really all I knew about my father until today. Today when I was cutting chicken and boiling water and thinking about Christmas errands and the phone rang. And someone was telling me far too much information for me to understand. About frostbite. Amputation. And this homeless man. And the hospital. And he's been there for two days and told everyone that he's entirely completely alone in this world until today when this woman went and talked to him and he finally said that he did have a daughter, a long time ago.
There's a backstory to how he had my phone number which involves a chuch softball team who hung around to talk to a lonely guy after a game and offered to look up this guy's kids on Facebook. That happened a couple of months ago and is just one those things that I haven't been sure how to process...
But today is different. Because there is a man in a hospital room.
I don't feel like I owe him for being my father, a father I don't know. A father who for millions of reasons wasn't my father.
I feel like I owe him for being a human. A human who is sad, and hurt, and scared, and lonely, and hopeless. And embarassed to be where he is, to be having someone call this woman he doesn't really know and doesn't want to burden.
Maybe I'll figure out what I can do for this man. If you're the praying type, please send one his way. No comments today. Just love the people you can, and forgive the people you can't love and then love them anyway. And that will make it a good Christmas for even the least of these.
I don't know his whole story. I know bits and pieces, stories, photos. He had two children, maybe more. His parents loved him and wanted to see him succeed. He married one of the most beautiful, creative, loving people I know. He hurt her. He hurt himself. He left his children. He found drugs, maybe for fun. Maybe to take away some of the pain of life. He used them in the same way we all use things or do things to cope. If we're lucky, those things will be healthy and help us keep our balance...
This man fell in love again, moved to the West coast, and lived. And then the woman he loved died and took with her a big part of him. What do we do when people we love are suddenly gone? Cope. For him, that meant drugs.
Until it didn't.
Another round of rehab, and he lands on his feet in the mountains. Alone. Really, truly, there is no one left in his life alone. So there's this man who's clean and in the mountains with no one and no things. Homeless. Homeless is a cold place with shelters that are too full to take everyone.
That's really all I knew about my father until today. Today when I was cutting chicken and boiling water and thinking about Christmas errands and the phone rang. And someone was telling me far too much information for me to understand. About frostbite. Amputation. And this homeless man. And the hospital. And he's been there for two days and told everyone that he's entirely completely alone in this world until today when this woman went and talked to him and he finally said that he did have a daughter, a long time ago.
There's a backstory to how he had my phone number which involves a chuch softball team who hung around to talk to a lonely guy after a game and offered to look up this guy's kids on Facebook. That happened a couple of months ago and is just one those things that I haven't been sure how to process...
But today is different. Because there is a man in a hospital room.
I don't feel like I owe him for being my father, a father I don't know. A father who for millions of reasons wasn't my father.
I feel like I owe him for being a human. A human who is sad, and hurt, and scared, and lonely, and hopeless. And embarassed to be where he is, to be having someone call this woman he doesn't really know and doesn't want to burden.
Maybe I'll figure out what I can do for this man. If you're the praying type, please send one his way. No comments today. Just love the people you can, and forgive the people you can't love and then love them anyway. And that will make it a good Christmas for even the least of these.