One Last Chance to Make it Real
I first met Bernie about ten years ago at a bar after a hard day of working construction. While most of us slammed a couple of beers so that we could run home to our busy lives, Bernie drank straight whiskey. It was common knowledge that Bernie had his first heart attack while still in his thirties, but he did nothing to change his hard-living ways. The health problems continued, and so did the drinking, gambling, and as Bernie puts it, whore-mongering. His family was devastated by his lifestyle. Two of his children ended up spending time in prison. His wife was long gone.
His financial future was also demolished and despite barely being able to stand for too long, he was forced to head back to work. I ran into Bernie a few weeks back. His face was gray, almost the color of ash. Most of his teeth were gone, and he was skinny as Olive Oil in the old Popeye cartoons. Yet, he was wearing a hardhat again.
I asked him how he felt and Bernie let loose with a litany of complaints. He needed heart surgery, his platelet counts were low, and the doctors and insurance company's were scared about his fragile health - too scared to give it a go. I didn't quite know what to say, but after leaving him standing there, I muttered, "Poor Bastard." That night, I said a prayer for him.
I ran into Bernie again a couple of days ago. I wish I could say that he looked better. Yet, he was resigned to his fate. He told me that he was having the surgery next Tuesday. He also told me that there was approximately a 67% chance that he would die. "I lived like an asshole forever," he said, "and more than anything else, I just want to make my peace with God. I don't deserve anyone's pity, but I do want to go to heaven."
Once more, I simply stood there. I muttered something about how everything would be great, and I explained that I would be praying for him to beat the odds. As I walked away, I muttered, "Poor bastard."
Bernie has been on my mind for most of the past 48 hours. I certainly will pray for him, but truth be told, his health is so fragile that he will not be with us long. I hope he has just enough time to make peace. An unfulfilled life is certainly a shame, but here's to Bernie, and the thought that he caught the wave just in time.
His financial future was also demolished and despite barely being able to stand for too long, he was forced to head back to work. I ran into Bernie a few weeks back. His face was gray, almost the color of ash. Most of his teeth were gone, and he was skinny as Olive Oil in the old Popeye cartoons. Yet, he was wearing a hardhat again.
I asked him how he felt and Bernie let loose with a litany of complaints. He needed heart surgery, his platelet counts were low, and the doctors and insurance company's were scared about his fragile health - too scared to give it a go. I didn't quite know what to say, but after leaving him standing there, I muttered, "Poor Bastard." That night, I said a prayer for him.
I ran into Bernie again a couple of days ago. I wish I could say that he looked better. Yet, he was resigned to his fate. He told me that he was having the surgery next Tuesday. He also told me that there was approximately a 67% chance that he would die. "I lived like an asshole forever," he said, "and more than anything else, I just want to make my peace with God. I don't deserve anyone's pity, but I do want to go to heaven."
Once more, I simply stood there. I muttered something about how everything would be great, and I explained that I would be praying for him to beat the odds. As I walked away, I muttered, "Poor bastard."
Bernie has been on my mind for most of the past 48 hours. I certainly will pray for him, but truth be told, his health is so fragile that he will not be with us long. I hope he has just enough time to make peace. An unfulfilled life is certainly a shame, but here's to Bernie, and the thought that he caught the wave just in time.
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