Wednesday, November 4, 2015

One Day

For whatever reason, I would like to remember today’s events and how I felt about what happened.

For those who don’t know, at my current job, I investigate the estates of deceased individuals. Part of my duties involves searching through the residences of deceased individuals. Today, I had two such searches.

The first visit was to the apartment of an old man who was receiving dialysis before passing away. The witness who joined me during the search informed me that the old man used to play the piano and was in a band called “The Drifters.” But what she said next is what really caught my attention and stuck with me:

You know… I think he gave up. I’ve seen this before with the other tenants. He was on dialysis and he started missing his appointments. The doctor was calling us asking where he was. I’m pretty sure he gave up.

This is one of those moments when I have no words and I prefer silence. We both stood there without saying anything. I then resumed my search of the roach-infested and food-stained paperwork that lay in front of me

My second visit was to the apartment of an old Hungarian man who loved music and had an extensive vinyl collection. Upon entering his residence, I noticed he had 15 recent messages on his answering machine. I clicked play and waited patiently. An old woman started speaking in Hungarian. The witness and I had no idea what she was saying but one thing was clear, as the messages progressed, her tone became more and more desperate and concerned until she was eventually crying on the second to last message. Fortunately, on the very last message she spoke in English and said “Please… please call me.” She left her phone number. After reaching her, we found out that she is the deceased old man’s sister and she hasn’t seen him for over 30 years. She had recently found him again and they had been talking on the phone. She had a visit planned in a few days. Her voice started trembling and she said she will never get to see him now.  I had no words. We shared a brief moment of heavy silence.


And that was my day.

1 comment:

Hark Triton, hark! Bellow, bid our father the Sea King rise from the depths full foul in his fury! Black waves teeming with salt foam to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet, bursting ye - a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now and nothing for the harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, for any stuff for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!

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The beginning is perhaps more difficult than anything else, but keep heart, it will turn out all right. -Vincent van Gogh