OCTOBER 3RD
Most of my trips to visit my brother in the hospital have happened during daylight hours, or at least, they began during the daytime. And I've made enough of these trips to have lost count. But this one was my first evening trip.
Unfamiliar with where the free, off-hours parking might be, I took a chance on finding a spot on the street. Most empty spaces were at least three blocks away from my destination. There was no way I was going for a three block walk, in an unfamiliar city, on a Saturday night.
The one-way streets guided me on an adventure a bit farther away than I was willing to look. Suddenly, a strange sounding horn honked at me from behind. The Baltimore MTA street-car was approaching and I was in its path. OK, this was a street I did not want to drive on. I decided to avoid any street that was perforated with those metal tracks.
A very light rain was falling as I waited for the light to change, I noticed what looked like a bag of trash lying on the sidewalk in front of the transit shelter. I inched forward to get a closer look. It was a person curled up in a fetal position, clothed completely in black. I couldn't see a face or a head, just the lump of humanity with two legs sticking out; the back of a left athletic shoe was neatly stacked on top of the right one. At least part of the motionless form was being soaked by the rainfall.
I reached for my phone to dial 9-1-1 and didn't notice the green light in front of me until the street-car driver started to honk again. After giving my details to the police, I figured I had seen enough and should retreat to the safety of the $8.00 parking lot I had always used.
Gathering most of what I planned to take up to my brother's room, I grabbed the vinyl banner I had made to display at our outdoor campus function which had been cancelled due to the rainy weather. He didn't know anything about it, so I thought it would be a happy surprise. When a loved one has a dire diagnosis, happy moments are worth more than platinum-plated gold.
Entering a room full of laughter and smiles, I greeted my brother, sister-in-law and family friend, then immediately unfurled my rolled tube. I should have taken a picture of his face when he first saw it. He gave me a big smile.
"How much did you pay for this?" he asked.
"Why are you asking me that?" I replied.
"I want to get 10 more of them!"
I realized he must be joking, but his comment confirmed he liked it. We all knew it would be leaving with me. Designed to be an eye-catching marker for our cause, it is intended to be on display at each of our Be The Match functions.
Originally, I was in the photograph, standing to his right; I cropped what little there is to see of myself out of the frame. I thought I saw him smile when pictures were taken. When I asked him to send me one to put online, there was no smile. You'll just have to take my word for it: I saw him smile. Nothing else that happened that day, whether good or bad, was more important.
I guess, if I was sick and about to put a picture of myself out for concerned friends and family to see, a smile might convey a misleading message.
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