Amazing Grace

This afternoon as I was walking to get a meatball sub for lunch and standing at an intersection waiting for the walk signal, an old man walking with a cane that looked like the bottom half of a crutch hobbled out to the island in the center of the street. He propped himself against a street sign and held his sign asking for money right above his belt. That was probably as high as he could get it and hold for any length of time.

He looked like a gust of air would blow him over, and the island he was standing on was only a couple of feet wide. Traffic is always heavy at that intersection, especially at lunch time. Watching him standing there made me nervous as hell.

But that was only half of it: he looked like an older version of Shannon. The shuffling way he walked, the slumping posture that made him look shorter than he was, the grey beard. The similarities so struck me that I almost started crying on the spot.

The old man reminded me of what might have happened to him had Shannon and I not met and become involved.

Shannon's life and ability to respond rationally to its challenges were declining rapidly. At any given time, he was only a few steps away from disaster, both financial and mental. The problems fed on each other: financial crisis added to mental crisis; mental crisis added to financial crisis. And the cycle was gaining speed as he went downhill.

He could have easily ended up unemployed and out on the street, alone with no one to watch out for him.

Truth be known, I wasn't too far from there myself. Both of our lives were in a dangerous downward spiral.

Since we’ve been together, Shannon and I have both become better, saner, more responsible people. We’ve been good for each other. He makes me want to be a better person, and I make him, I think, do the same.

When I saw that old man, I saw a glimpse of what could have been. And it broke my heart. I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head since. The obvious labor he took moving just a few feet, and the way he held his head down and didn't look anywhere much but the ground. That he looked clean. And that, while his shoes covered his feet, they were well-worn and had seen better days.

On the way back from the sub shop, I saw that he had moved a few feet away from the sign he was leaning on to get to more cars. He started hobbling back to the sign when the light changed, using his cane to drag what looked like the leftovers of a cheeseburger closer to him.

By the time the lights changed to let me walk, he’d made it back to the sign post to start all over again. I walked over and gave him 5 bucks and then hustled to get across the street before the lights changed against me.

I've looked for him every day since, but I haven't seen him. I don't know what became of him or what will, who he is or whether or not he has a place to live.

I don’t know what he did with the money, but I don’t really care.

All I know is that there but by the grace of God. . .