Meredith and I had a seminary student staying with us briefly during her journey through this disease. She was describing a project she was formulating to share with one of her classes on outreach. She shared this plan with me. Two or three students would go out at lunch time and cruise the fast food places and every time they noticed an elderly person sitting at a table dining alone, they would approach, identify themselves as seminary students and sit with this person to share some company. All this to share to the warmth of friendship and companionship to a lonely person. I told her if I was that old man, sitting by myself, eating my lunch, I would be polite, because I have been raised in the South and politeness is ingrained in one’s bones, and open my table to them. But I then explained to her, I was doing so because it is the polite course to take. If upon approaching my table they had inquired if I would like some company, I would thank them but decline the request. She looked some what confused with this answer so I further explained. There is a differance between being lonely and being alone. All of my working career I have had very stressful work conditions. Thirty and forty mile commutes each way in Atlanta traffic. Sales targets to hit, lost freight etc etc etc. Lunch time was and is today my refuge. I leave my cell phone in the car. When the AJC Urinal and Constipation, Meredith’s name not mine, had decent crossword puzzles, I would do these at lunch. In ink of course. When Meredith became home bound, lunch was my only refuge from watching her die. I had my local restaurants where I take my break. The servers knew me, and they knew Meredith and what we were going through. Conversations were minimal, the mental decompression was great and the tip was always generous.
So this brings me to the topic at hand. After July 7th, this became a total different alone. This being alone has merged and morphed into a type of lonely which is off the charts. This is physically painful. This is motivation killing. This is being able to sit on the side of the bed, getting up at 6AM, look down at the floor and look at the clock again and it is 9AM mind numbing pain. Six plus years I watched the “progression” of the disease rob Meredith of all strength and control. Now Meredith’s battle is over. And I am left behind. Attempting to find the pieces in a desolate and quiet abstract picture of how I see my life. And the questions come from people I meet while picking out green beans, or grabbing some butter in the store. “How are you doing?, no how are you really doing” It only has taken two or three times until I have been able to formulate an answer they can ingest and accept. “I am not at all good. My problem is I draw on past experiences to plan the future and as I have never traveled a path as this, I do not know how I am supposed to be doing. So considering the shape I am in, Iam in pretty good shape.” If the Ministry of Truth ever needs a writer have them give me a call. I believe I can do the job. I thank you Mr. Orwell.