I Put a Strange Man to Bed Today

        My 93-year-old dad was watching about 10 or so family members playing pool in one of the open rooms that looked over into the dining area of the Senior Living facility where he lives. We were celebrating my great-nephew’s birthday party.

         I rushed down the hall from the party to check on dad’s clothes I had put in the washer earlier. He was enjoying his company and all the attention, and I was doing his laundry while we were there.

         I rounded the corner to go down an adjacent hall where his apartment was,  put my key in the door, then I a strange noise. I looked down the hall to the left where about 10 other seniors had apartments on either side.

         At the very end of the hall, a man was pacing back and forth, not speaking, just walking and touching the walls. Thinking it wasn’t any of my business, I looked away, about to open my father’s door. But for some reason, I stopped and looked back. He seemed slightly agitated as he bobbed his head front and back, then turning to walk to the other side. I watched him a bit longer and then gave up on my mission.

         Stepping back from the door, I looked down the hall and called to him, asking, “Can I help you find something?

         He stopped, cocked his head toward me as if he didn’t hear me at first.

         “Do you need some help?’ I said, loudly this time, as I began to walk toward him.

         “Yes,” he replied, rocking a bit as he stood in one place. I continued toward him, still questioning my decision, and asked, “Have you lost something? Maybe I can help you find it?”

         “Is that you Letty,?” he asked as I got closer to him.

         “No, it’s not. I’m Shari, you don’t know me,” I said as I finally reached him. I looked closer at his face and realized that he was blind.

         “Have you lost your room?” I asked him.

         “Yes, I have.” He replied.

         “What’s your name? Is it Carlton?”

         Surprised, he said, “Yes, how did you know?”

         “This door over here is slightly open and it says W. Carlton on it. Is that you?”

         He smiled a bit, and then said, “Yes, I’m just trying to get to my bed and I can’t find it.”

         “Here! Take my hand. I’ll help you find it.”

         So I reached out and took W. Carlton’s knarled hand with thick, long fingernails the color of dark chalkboard and he grabbed it as if it were a lifeline.

         “Thank you. Do I know you?” he asked. “Are you new here?”

         “No,” I replied, I’m visiting my father down the hall and you looked like you needed some help.”

         “I do. I just want to get to my bed.”

         I opened the door, took my free hand and put it around his shoulder as I guided him through the doorway.

         “What’s the W for Mr. Carlton? The one on your door?”

         “William, you can call me William. What was your name again?

         “Shari,” I replied as I continued to navigate him away from a wall he was about to walk into.

         I guided him along the tiny kitchen area just in front of his single bed. I took his hand and let him feel the end of the bed and told him we were almost there. He grabbed the knob of the iron bed and began walking forward, saying he needed to find his pillow.

         A very thin pillow, covered in a bright floral pillow-case, lay at the other end where the air conditioner vents hung just beneath the window. I showed him where to sit on the bed by having him move a little more down toward the end of the bed.
         He stopped to take his shoes off and slowly put them under the bed and began to ease his head down on the pillow, feeling under it with one hand. I couldn’t help but wonder why he had a pillow at all as it was so thin.

         “I keep my wallet under my pillow,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket to pull it out and slip under the pillow.

         “Do you have a phone, Mr. Carlton?” I asked.

         “Oh yes, it’s in another pocket,” he said as he found his phone and laid it next to his wallet.

         Then he asked if he was in the right place and I told him he was. He bent to lay down, his head lying on the little pillow, as I asked if he wanted me to cover him up with the blanket.

         “No,” he replied. “Thank you for helping me to bed. I was really tired and needed some rest.”

         “You have a nice rest, William, I said and turned to go. I shut the door behind me, wishing I could get him a better pillow but realized he might really like that one. I thanked God for the blessings I had and the nice things that my father had in his comfortable apartment down the hall. I thought about all the things we take for granted and remembered praying that morning for God to show me opportunities He had for me to serve Him. This one was totally unexpected. And I remembered how long it took me to decide if I was going to intervene, or just turn dad’s key and go inside, leaving William Carlton to take care of himself. I can’t imagine how disappointed God is when we ask for Him to show us ways He can use us and we miss the call.