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A Death of No Importance
Dec. 14th, 2018 01:44 pmObviously, the header isn't true. I may not be a believer, but I'm fully behind John Donne's "any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde" [Link to No Man is an Island]
I'm sure it's true elsewhere that varying one's route to work varies the homeless people one meets. When I was at the satellite center, I took the green line to work and rarely ran into Stanley. But while working at Headquarters, I take the orange line, and Stanley was a fixture.
Years ago, not long after our office first moved to the new headquarters, he asked me for change to get something to eat. I had no cash, but invited to join me at Potbelly for a meal and we talked. Stanley was the first person to tell me that homeless people need not to spend their money on toiletries so giving someone on the street the little bottles we collect from hotel rooms or a new toothbrush could be a huge help, especially if the giver was worried that money would be spent on alcohol or drugs.
When my cousin, Nettie, who was more like a grandparent to me than my real grandparents were died -- at 105 -- one of my colleagues sent me home and arranged bereavement leave for me. Her death wasn't unexpected, but I'd hoped to be able to see her once more. As I came out of the metro, Stanley noticed how I looked. He spent the better part of an hour talking and listening and comforting.
He had problems with his legs. He'd recently gotten Section 8 housing in my neighborhood, but he still relied on the street to cover his expenses. I work for employment services, but after making an offer to help him myself and another to put him in touch with the Vet Rep for the homeless, I didn't press it.
Seeing him usually brightened my day. I gave him cash when I could afford it, but he never said anything other than "have a blessed day" if I couldn't. He was genuinely kind and warm.
The last time I saw him was a week ago, 12/7/2018. I passed his building as he was coming out, and I gave him a dollar to help with groceries.
There were flowers and a couple of flyers on his usual bench this morning. They were eulogies of varying lengths all saying that Stanley Eubanks, aged 62, had been called home on 10 December.
I know very little about him. I know he made my days better. I hope if there's an afterlife, not that I expect one, that he's in a good place. He was a man in pain. He was a man who comforted me when I was in need. He was a man, and his death is a genuine loss.
I'm sure it's true elsewhere that varying one's route to work varies the homeless people one meets. When I was at the satellite center, I took the green line to work and rarely ran into Stanley. But while working at Headquarters, I take the orange line, and Stanley was a fixture.
Years ago, not long after our office first moved to the new headquarters, he asked me for change to get something to eat. I had no cash, but invited to join me at Potbelly for a meal and we talked. Stanley was the first person to tell me that homeless people need not to spend their money on toiletries so giving someone on the street the little bottles we collect from hotel rooms or a new toothbrush could be a huge help, especially if the giver was worried that money would be spent on alcohol or drugs.
When my cousin, Nettie, who was more like a grandparent to me than my real grandparents were died -- at 105 -- one of my colleagues sent me home and arranged bereavement leave for me. Her death wasn't unexpected, but I'd hoped to be able to see her once more. As I came out of the metro, Stanley noticed how I looked. He spent the better part of an hour talking and listening and comforting.
He had problems with his legs. He'd recently gotten Section 8 housing in my neighborhood, but he still relied on the street to cover his expenses. I work for employment services, but after making an offer to help him myself and another to put him in touch with the Vet Rep for the homeless, I didn't press it.
Seeing him usually brightened my day. I gave him cash when I could afford it, but he never said anything other than "have a blessed day" if I couldn't. He was genuinely kind and warm.
The last time I saw him was a week ago, 12/7/2018. I passed his building as he was coming out, and I gave him a dollar to help with groceries.
There were flowers and a couple of flyers on his usual bench this morning. They were eulogies of varying lengths all saying that Stanley Eubanks, aged 62, had been called home on 10 December.
I know very little about him. I know he made my days better. I hope if there's an afterlife, not that I expect one, that he's in a good place. He was a man in pain. He was a man who comforted me when I was in need. He was a man, and his death is a genuine loss.
