Ok, so he wasn't actually homeless. But I christened him Homeless Jim shortly after meeting him (although, I don't think he ever knew that that's what I called him).
You all know him (if you've spent any time at Borders whatsoever). He was the 64 year old man with straggly grey hair and a big, bushy beard (usually... sometimes he kept it trim). He was the gentleman in the dirty jacket with all of the plastic bags who had the same routine every morning (at least when I worked at Borders).
He would come in just as the store was opening (sometimes he'd be off to the side smoking a cigarette, if he happened to arrive early). Whether he was out front or was walking in as I was getting the cafe ready for the day, it was always the same.
"Hey, man. How's it going?"
"Aay, all right."
"Anything new?"
"*gruffy*NAAAH, nothing. ...Oh, did you hear about [this thing in the news]?"
"No, what's up?"
"Oh, these sh*theads in Sacramento... I mean, my God, could they be any more brain dead?"
"Man, that's crazy."
"Yeah. ...So you gonna do any work today?"
"Don't count on it."
"*gruffy*YEAH, figures!"
"All right, I'll be talkin' to ya."
"Yeah."
He'd get his coffee (and sometimes a bagel, depending on how generous other customers had been that week, or how lucky he was to find some cash or a gift card), grab a couple different newspapers, sit at the same table he always sat at and read.
Sometimes we'd get to talking about different restaurants in California or he'd tell me his recipe for a mean lasagna ("Now a good lasagna takes 2 days to make...") or we'd just shoot the breeze, talking about nothing.
He made sure that I knew every group of people that came in to Borders that he didn't like, from the "gimps" to the "fags." I'd always say, "hey, come on, man. they're people, they're cool." He always made sure I knew, but he never pushed it. And believe it or not, before I quit working there, there was even a mentally challenged, regular customer that Jim bought a coffee for! Can you believe that? Bitter old man with a soft heart!
Jim was probably my favorite reason for coming in to Borders. I loved to harass him (but only as payback!). He'd be sitting in his other regular chair (after reading the papers and having a smoke, he'd come in to the ring of cushy chairs, sit at the same one, every day, and read books on World War II, the weapons, technology and vehicles used during said war, books about old time actors and singers, magazines on cars and, more often than not, he'd be reading good, ol'-fashioned comic books [even the newer ones]) and I'd sneak up behind him and put a magnetic strip on his shoulder, so when he'd go outside for his next cigarette, he'd set off the alarm. I was always quick to let every one know what was going on so he wouldn't get in any real trouble.
Other times I would sneak up behind him (always with the sneaking!) and try to surreptitiously snatch his plastic bags that contained all of his belongings. Sometimes I'd pull it off, other times I wouldn't. Either way, it was always fun (even if he acted angry). The coolest part about that was getting the other customers involved. They would be sitting around us, as well, and we'd catch eyes as I was grabbing the stash, then they'd look at Jim, look at me with a wry grin, look down at their book, peak over at Jim. Whether I'd get busted or not, we'd all share a laugh, or at least a smile. Ah, the community at Borders.
I was constantly in effort to earn gold stars from Jim. There was a Harry Potter book release event and countless little plastic, gold stars were strewn all about the store. If ever I did something that met his approval (which was rare [but not really]), he'd give me a star. If I did something he didn't like, he threatened to take them away and give them to Molly, a co-worker of mine. I acted like I wouldn't care if he took them away, hoping that maybe, that way, he wouldn't.
Jim was always there to share a laugh, a joke, a recipe ("...then you just add salt to taste"), directions to this awesome, hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Timbucktoo, just off the coast, or to threaten me or ask my wife (well, my soon-to-be at the time) if she needed him to beat me up.
For being a crotchity, old man, he had a lot of friends. There were us, of course, then there were my friends, Aaron, Jimmy and Chris, who I introduced him to, then there were all of the other regular customers who had gotten to know Jim over the years, sitting at Borders. There were Barb and Charlie, Orthodox Mike, there was Ron, the other old guy who would come and play pinochle with him. There were countless other customers who would buy him a drink or a bagel, bring him a Christmas gift or a birthday card (November 7th) or just hang out with him for a little while. Even an old Borders employee, David, would come and smoke with him, always leaving a handful of cigarettes in Jim's pocket before taking off.
I'll tell you one thing, though. Jim didn't always just take. He gave me himself in friendship. He let me in on aspects of his life that I'm sure he didn't share with just anybody. He loved me and my wife and our friends, even if he didn't always know how. One time, around Christmas, after finding $100 in the street, he even took my wife and me out to lunch. I'll never forget the cashier's face at Boston Market when, after ordering all of this food and expecting the money to come from my wallet, it came from this homeless guy's. Big, selfless jerk.
So I got a call last night, about 9 o'clock. It was from Barbara, the regular from Borders. She wanted me to know that, since she knew Jim and I were friends, Jim was in the hospital. He had an infection in his blood, as well as heart, kidney and lung problems. Even though they knew of no family, the nurses were going to let anyone see him who wanted to see him.
Here's the craziness of that. Barbara saw us with him Wednesday night (which is what made her think of us last night) because we, last minute decision, went to Borders to hang out with another friend of ours. After taking him to the hospital, she talked to an old manager at Borders, Neal, to get my home number. Completely illegal, but totally awesome: he gave it to her. She called the house, talked to my parents, who just so happened to be home, and they gave her my cell phone number. We talked to Barb and got down there around 9.45. By the grace of God, 2 sets of people cleared us to go see him. All of these intricate details worked out so precisely so we could see him in his final hours. God loves us. He loves all of us.
So we got to talk to him. He had tubes and pipes poking in every-which-where as well as tape holding the breathing tube coming from his mouth in place. He wasn't able to talk, but he could understand us. The entire time, his eyes had tears wanting to burst forth.
Rhiannon and I told him we were with him. I made a few stupid, awkward jokes ("So, can I have your Batman hat now?"), but otherwise didn't know what else to say. We made sure he knew, if not before, then now, for certain, no question about it, that we love him. He tapped his nose. As clearly as I could, feeling stupid and embarrassed and afraid I would be harassing a dying man, that, anything and everything he saw in my life that was good or beautiful or loving, especially in our relationship, that all of that is the love Jesus has for me spilling on to him. Somewhere in all of my blabbering, he tapped his nose. "There's probably a lot of stuff in your life that you feel dumb about. It's all good, man. All you need to do is let Jesus love you." (I pray that I was that clear in our actual conversation.)
He was fighting his breathing machine and he kept bending his arm that had the IV hooked up to it (blocking the flow). The whole time, different nurses and attendants kept walking in and out. I could tell he was scared. I held his hand for a good, long time. The first time I tried to caress his head, he turned away.
The whole time Rhiannon, who was in an extreme amount of pain herself, but still opted to see Jim instead of going home to take medicine, was right with me. She told Jim she loved him and was by my side, caressing my back the entire time. She stepped out, for just a minute and at my request, to call Chris and update him on all of the goings-on. When she came back in, I was at Jim's other side, holding that hand, so he'd keep his IV arm straight (ornery old man).
Finally, Jim looked me in the eye. He did more than look. He locked. We barely broke eye contact for 10 minutes. And this time, when i caressed his head, he didn't turn away. I don't understand "eyespeak," but I'm sure he was thanking us for coming and who knows what else. His sad, blue, tear-filled eyes. I pray that he let himself see the love of Jesus.
I started to tell him about how Rhiannon and I met. I gave him a little personal history, touched on all of my sordid affairs, and was about to get in to actually meeting Rhiannon, when the nurse came in and said it was time to go. She needed to give him a bath. I kissed his hand and told him I'd come back later to finish the story.
We left right when our friends arrived. Chris, Jimmy and Aaron showed up to the hospital to show Jim they were with him and that they loved him, too. They weren't allowed up, but I pray he was told they came.
I set my alarm for 2 in the morning, so I could call and check up on him. My alarm went off and I went straight back to sleep.
I called at 7.30, when I actually got up, to discover that he had died at about 3, just an hour after I would have called him. Naturally, I felt like an idiot for not coming through for him, in his final moments.
The cry of our hearts (ALL of our hearts, Rhiannon's and the guys') was that he wouldn't die alone, that someone (physical, spiritual or Divine) would be with him in his final moments. Rhiannon and I cried out our sorrow that this is a world where people have to die alone. We all prayed that Jesus would be with him and that he would receive the God Who loves him. I was angry with myself because I wasn't an answer to my own prayer, so I could get 10 seconds extra sleep.
The guys told me that, so the story goes, while no one wants to be alone when they die, they are truly, really comforted in knowing that they're not alone in the general sense, in the "people care about me even if they're not standing next to me as I pass" sense. In fact, most people wait to die until the people that are with them leave the room.
It was an honor knowing Homeless Jim. I had a great time being in his life and loved that he was in mine. It humbles me that I, some punk who loves Jesus, could bring him peace, joy and comfort, most especially in his final hours, just by loving him as imperfectly as I can, in the style of Jesus, Who loves us so perfectly.
The coroner's office have found a surviving child (adult) in Hollister. We've yet to see how that has turned out. There is a memorial service in the works, hopefully at Borders, and there's talk of a collection for donation to the Gospel Mission in his name.
Walter James "Homeless Jim" Worsham (had no idea, did ya? Walter?!), may the peace of Christ be with you and may our Lord welcome you into His Kingdom. Amen.
The nurse I talked to this morning, based on all of the people who came to see him in his short time in the hospital (8, by my count), after telling me that he passed said, "He must have been a sweet, old man."
"Yeah."
I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.
