I left my marriage. It must begin here for with it I undid worlds and opened universes. Yes, an affair. I'm an asshole. A douche bag. A sinner. A prodigal...who may have traveled to a country void of departure terminals. With this I cannot argue.
I roamed the nursing home with the illusion of purposefulness as is sometimes necessary with a new job whose tasks don't yet fill the required hours. That's when he screamed...not once, not twice, but like the morning alarm that just won't shut up. He screamed a concoction of terror, delusion, and helplessness. I peeked my head into the room hoping to see something I could justify ignoring. He lay there, a grown man...a man who'd been in charge, who'd made decisions, who'd mastered his fate. He'd kicked off his sheets with nothing to protect his dignity except the desperate grip of a single strip of Velcro on his diaper (adult briefs if it makes you feel better). Clammy. Pale.
I had to enter the room. A couple steps and I paused to mumble more of a defiant dare than a prayer to translucent traces of a God I once thought I knew, "Why is he still here? Let him die! Or, kill him yourself! Show some mercy! He believes in you!" The resident's cries continued while the heavenly silence screamed. There must be divine purpose in this suffering...alone, naked, incoherent...a purpose for him who no longer understands, a teachable spiritual moment for the crowds who will never enter his room...a purpose. "Glory be to the silent God."
So the asshole pulled up the covers. The douche bag tightened the diaper. The sinner grabbed the trembling hand. And from the distant country, the prodigal uttered frail words of comfort.
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