Let It Be
Ran into a guy on a job yesterday and immediately began asking him questions. He looked familiar and I thought I knew what he'd been up to recently, but he surprised me.
"Haven't been working for two years," he said.
I must have looked confused.
"This is my first day back in the real world. My son died of cancer and the week after the funeral I rented a boat in Florida and just drove around for awhile. I fished. I boated. I considered things."
Wow.
I was going to start asking questions, but instead just offered my condolences.
"You figure anything out?" I asked.
"Not a f*cking thing," he answered.
We talked about cancer and how it ravages a 20-year old body.
We talked about death and grief and trying to rise above things.
"I don't believe in God anymore," he said.
I found that a little curious but perhaps that was all that he had figured out as he boated around.
I decided to tell him the story about Paul McCartney who wrote the song "Let It Be," after his mother had passed away.
The vivid dream that McCartney had and the fact that his mother's ghost had told him to just Let It Be.
"Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom," he mouthed, remembering the verse.
"That's the one," I said.
"Damn, I just got chills," he said. "Two years riding around and all the people who comforted me. I love that. I won't ever forget it."
We talked a little while longer, hitting on the Bills, the implosion at Gates Hospital, the Yankees and even 9/11.
All just words...
...a few minutes passed.
When he told me about his son's short life as we got ready to part, he took off his work glove and extended his hand to me.
"Let it Be," he said. "Gonna' try and do that a little."
I wish it was a help to him, but it probably isn't.
At the end of the day, it probably won't get him through it for very long...
...but maybe...
...just for a little while.
"Haven't been working for two years," he said.
I must have looked confused.
"This is my first day back in the real world. My son died of cancer and the week after the funeral I rented a boat in Florida and just drove around for awhile. I fished. I boated. I considered things."
Wow.
I was going to start asking questions, but instead just offered my condolences.
"You figure anything out?" I asked.
"Not a f*cking thing," he answered.
We talked about cancer and how it ravages a 20-year old body.
We talked about death and grief and trying to rise above things.
"I don't believe in God anymore," he said.
I found that a little curious but perhaps that was all that he had figured out as he boated around.
I decided to tell him the story about Paul McCartney who wrote the song "Let It Be," after his mother had passed away.
The vivid dream that McCartney had and the fact that his mother's ghost had told him to just Let It Be.
"Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom," he mouthed, remembering the verse.
"That's the one," I said.
"Damn, I just got chills," he said. "Two years riding around and all the people who comforted me. I love that. I won't ever forget it."
We talked a little while longer, hitting on the Bills, the implosion at Gates Hospital, the Yankees and even 9/11.
All just words...
...a few minutes passed.
When he told me about his son's short life as we got ready to part, he took off his work glove and extended his hand to me.
"Let it Be," he said. "Gonna' try and do that a little."
I wish it was a help to him, but it probably isn't.
At the end of the day, it probably won't get him through it for very long...
...but maybe...
...just for a little while.
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