Death
I, unlike many people I know have been fortunate enough to be shielded from death. To date none of my close friends or relations have suffered any life threatening diseases, nor have they died, lucky me. Like a coddled child wrapped protectively from the bad things in life, I have only watched from afar as other people grieved over loved ones now lost. I was therefore totally unprepared by the sheer force of emotion that hit me last week when I heard of an acquaintance’s near death situation at Queen’s Hospital.
I say acquaintance, since I do not know what else to call our relationship. He was a man who had worked for us on and off over the years; he was not a carpenter, nor a real builder, but rather a jack-of-all-trades as many kiwis often are. He would call us every once in a while, asking if we had any projects on, and if anything was forthcoming he would hop on a plane and arrive ready for work. Such was the case early this year, and when our plans for another business were put on hold, he came to work on our house to fill in some time.
Every day at 7a.m. on the dot he would arrive, initially by bike and later by car, always with a baseball cap on his head, and a slightly sheepish look on his face. We are not early risers, and I always felt that he thought that he was an intrusion arriving at that time in the morning, despite the fact that he was either working outside or in a completely different part of the house from all of us sleeping beauties. Always grateful for a cup of coffee, water and lunch – he was extremely polite, and when “D” was not working with him he would always say something to the effect of “oh, I just have to get this last bit done, so I’ll just take it with me”, never staying to eat at the table. Or once when we had a bricklayer working – he asked if I could call him quietly because he felt awkward eating lunch prepared by me because the worker had asked if he would like to go and grab something with him.
An older man, small in stature, and yet fitter and stronger than my youthful sons; they were in awe of his physique. They would always tell their friends how “P” was “totally ripped”! He swam daily, rode his bike all over town, ate healthily and only ever drank on weekends. He was it is true basically a loner, he rarely spoke of friends or family, or of doing anything much socially and I think that that is what made the whole situation even more devastating in my mind.
He was found at 2a.m.on a street close to his apartment. He was lying on the sidewalk, a bloody mess by a nurse just getting off work. She, thank God got him to the hospital where he was put on life support. He had nothing on him but his cell phone and $59; he was just a John Doe. One of the supervisor’s trying to get in touch with anyone who knew him, scrolled through his phone and in one of those odd quirks of fate recognized her ex-husband’s number. She called him, and he put her in touch with us, and we went down to identify him. Poor “P”, massive head trauma had basically killed him, and even though he was breathing through the machine, they said he had little or no brain function. They were really only waiting to get in touch with a relative to let him go.
Relatives, girlfriends, friends? What did we really know about him? We knew his first and last name, the fact that he had dual citizenship, his local number, (he had always contacted us from New Zealand) and to be honest that was about it. The police, searching his apartment found his passport, but little else of personal import. Of course we did eventually find a relation, an estranged brother, however what impacted me so greatly was the fact had it not been for that one number on his phone this man would have gone unmarked to his grave as a mere John Doe. His life totally unrecognized, with no love, no sense of loss at his passing. And such a senseless loss at that, because to this day nobody knows exactly what happened; one scenario being that after a few drinks, realizing that he had forgotten the keys to his third floor apartment he attempted to climb up to his balcony. It sounds too strange to me; was he beaten up? I dearly hope not, I cannot imagine little “P” as I always think of him, a totally non-violent person being assaulted by people much larger than he I am sure. And to what purpose? If he had been robbed, why leave $59?
“P” I am so sorry for what happened to you. I didn’t really know you, but your passing has effected me more than I can tell you. You were a good man, a diligent worker and I hope that more than just our family will mourn for you, because you deserve a lot better than that. A John Doe you certainly were not, in my mind you did leave a mark on our lives, enriching and making it better. I will add a little something, I am not sure what, but I will know when I find it, right beside my habanero plant with its bright red peppers that you loved so much, and I will feel your soul enriching the earth each time I see it bear fruit.
1 comment December 17th, 2008