Day 29 The Chair Man

A wheelchair sat alone in the hallway. The unit, now empty. Moments before, a patient sat in that wheelchair. I think of him now and I am overwhelmed with emotion. The memory of our interaction rose in my memory . . .

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He smiled at me. Told me 'Thank You.' His hand trembled as he laid it on my arm.

His voice was raspy. A smoker who quit out of necessity. He coughed. The damage to his lungs apparent. His clothes sagged on his bony frame. His chest caved in underneath.

He looked at me and smiled again. His eyes were yellow. His lips were dry and cracked.

I was gentle with the wheelchair as I headed to the car ramp where we would meet his wife. He was going home that day.

His wife showed me a picture of him in his Navy uniform taken years ago. He looked so youthful, strong, confident. Eyes undulled and bright with promise.  His medical problems plagued him now. His mind invaded by Post-Traumatic Stress. 

While waiting for his wife to come around the ramp with their car, we had several minutes to talk. He saw a picture of Tom in his Special Reaction Team uniform on my phone as I checked for messages. He told me that he was once a special forces operator. His eyes brightened as he told me of places he's been to and the people he met. After a few minutes, his eyes dulled again. He looked at the Veteran's office across the street, and to no one in particular said, "Yeah. Good times." I heard the ghosts in his voice, of a past filled with bad memories, and a present full of nightmares. 

I helped him stand and, unsteadily, he reached for something to hold on to inside the car. He winced, grimaced. Pain caught him off guard and he was unable to mask it. A little short of breath, he settled onto the car seat. I barely heard him whisper, "I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity."

I snapped his seatbelt on. He looked up at me once more. Held my hand and with a smile, he said, "Thank your husband for me . . . for his service . . . " Then he closed the car door. A few minutes later, I watched their car as it made a left towards the main road.

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Out of curiosity, I typed in the phrase I heard him say. It is from the Navy SEAL ethos. I think of him now and thank God for men like him and hope that somewhere in the world, he is well.

To our Navy SEALs. Thank you for your service.