He’s a surviving Veteran. Well his body is alive; his will to live is
solid. By the definition of ‘surviving’,
he existed. Now he is living.
Only in recent months did he
move out of his car. Yes, he has once again taken residence in a house! For many years he lived ‘on the streets’,
parks, and beaches in sunny California.
Three or four years ago he
headed northeast, home! But he wouldn’t
come out of his car. He claimed impaired
breathing due to a lung problem caused by working in construction wouldn’t let
him breathe when confined in a room, in a house. He had to be in fresh air.
He had served in Viet Nam.
That unconventional brother
of mine had a stroke, maybe five or six years before leaving California. It was serious. His good ‘street friends’ telephoned another
sibling, my twin, and me.
Jim, long distance helped him
manage life so he could begin receiving veteran’s benefits. Still that stubborn, now seriously afflicted brother of ours would not
accept housing from anyone or any agency.
He checked himself out of the
hospital. Family shrugged shoulders, shook heads, and waited.
He was grown.
Then that spring night three
or four years ago I got a call from Jim.
Our brother was in St. Louis. He
wouldn’t come into his home, said he would be okay in his car; had Jim meet him
on a street corner; drove Jim back home and said he would be on his way. Didn’t say where.
We were thinking he was
coming to me. I was shaken, didn’t want someone,
brother or anyone, living in his car in my back yard. I kept reminding myself, “you’re a Christian
woman; you are your brother’s keeper, even
your blood brother.” Agony and
prayers that night. Yes, those previous
five words are not a sentence, only a fragment, just like the varied, unkind, and
selfish thoughts tumbling about punishing me all night long.
He didn’t come to me. He kept going northeast, home.
So for three or four years, his
car was his home hidden, on the acreage my father bought in 1950. It was so – until recent months when he moved
into a house. He called to tell me, proudly proclaiming he had windows on
the north, east, south and west. “Marv,
there’s excellent ventilation. I’m fine!”
I was motivated to write this
blog post when I sat to craft a suggested ‘thank you’ letter requested by my
brother. He claims it will help him
write a letter of appreciation regarding the outstanding service he received
from his Veteran’s Administration based social worker. She helped him find a suitable home, deal with
his insecurities and use his resources for an improved quality of life. A letter to the woman's boss is certainly a good thing. I’m thrilled he’s determined to write one.
