On May 10th, I wrote a somber blog entry entitled "The Only Guarantee in Life is ..." about an episode that had occurred to me the previous day. For those of you who gracioulsy read it, you'd recall that I helped an elderly gentleman up from a face-fall position in his driveway next door to where I work. It was a sad event and I was thrilled to see the gentleman moving about, even slow as he was, shortly thereafter. He would even hop onto his Craftsman riding lawnmower and trim his lawn although very slowly, also quite methodically. A graceful and kind man. He stopped in a time or two ... sometimes taking the ride across our parking lot on his tractor, sometimes walking slowly and steadily on weary, but determined legs. I didn't know his name. I know what it is now. I think it's sad that I know what it is now and how I have come across that knowledge. Maybe one of those days I could have introduced myself. Things just don't work out in the scheme of things in life sometimes. He didn't ask me my name the day I helped him. He was exhausted and most likely probably a little embarrassed, although he need not be for the likes of me. I felt his frustration and made a compassionate decision to leave it alone. After all, I said it in the previous blog entry that I don't think I did anything more than anyone else would have ... at least should have done that day. But in a world of litigations and pointing fingers of blame from ambulance chasing lawyers getting rich from the misadventures of people, you have to be extremely careful nowadays. That day ... on May 9th, I didn't think. I reacted. That was a man face down in his driveway struggling to get up. That simply would not do. At the least I had to get him turned over and then wait for medical assistance, but he assured me he was okay. Just very weak.
I also found out some more information on this man. He had just celebrated his 60th wedding anniversary on June 11th merely a month after this episode. What a wonderful accomplishment for this man and his wife. It also seems that he has quite an extended family and was a World War II veteran and belonged to several hunting clubs, and assorted memberships from the Amercian Legion to Our Ladies Rosary Makers. I also found out he was 90 years old. Man ... that means he was born in 1917 and was married in 1947 at the age of 30 and still made it to his 60th anniversary.
So ... I'm sure you've gathered why I found out all this information. Mr. Miller (I'll omit his first name for reasons of anonymity ... at least in the geographical aspect reaching beyond the Great North Woods of New Hampshire) passed away this past Wednesday on July 11th, 2007. Maybe there's something about the numbers. Maybe there's nothing at all about the numbers. Just a simple plan ... a wonderful and peaceful life led and passed. Why I would even consider applying numbers to this tribute is because how they seem to be flashing in front of my eyes. 1917, 1947, 2007 ... the seventh month. There're plenty of other numbers in the mix that have nothing to do with sevens. 60th wedding anniversary, 90 years-old, he graduated in 1934, etc. I'm committed to finding out when Mr. Miller was born, unfortunately his obituary did not state that, just that he was 90, so he must have had his birthday already this year. Although ... I could be off on that since his birthdate was not revealed. I guess I'm assuming. He graduated in 1934, so I'm assuming he was 17 and that would make everything neat mathematically. I ran with it from there.
Neither here nor there, after that particular episode in May, I always kept my eye out over at the house next door to where I work. I'd see him out there mowing his lawn and felt that he was doing okay. I'd see him and his wife getting into their car from time to time and take off for points unknown always returning. I'd see him lumber slowly down his driveway to his mailbox on the edge of the busy road heading north. A week or so before he passed away, I had noticed a police officer had pulled a southbound red pickup truck over and was just thinking that's going to be an expensive ticket since it was in a road construction zone, when suddenly the two officers hopped back in their cruiser and pulled the first available U-turn. They sped along the front of the shop where I work and pulled directly into Mr. and Mrs. Miller's driveway. What was this all about, I wondered. Then ... as quickly as they pulled in, they back up onto the busy road and sped off northbound. Curious. Not five minutes later they returned accompanied with an ambulance and a couple of unmarked cars of both police and medical response. Her or him, I concerned myself with the Millers. Trying to do my job, but also rubberneck the most discreet way I could, I was saddened to see Mr. Miller strapped in a tight wheel chair and rolled across the tarmac of his driveway towards the ambulance. Since that day a week or so ago ... I've been hoping to see him riding his lawn mower one last time. Maybe walking down to his mailbox. Maybe I would have waved and said "Hi." Maybe not. Either way, it would have been good to see him. Even one last time. I never did. I don't think Mr. Miller ever came home from that ambulance trip to Androscoggin Valley Hospital. Then, on Wednesday of all days, one of his sons who lived locally came in to tell us he had passed away earlier that morning. He came to tell us because he knew we kind of looked out for Mr. Miller. He came out of respect and thanked us for all of our help. I heard about it second hand and after a particularly difficult day at work, it certainly wasn't welcome news.
Well, Mr. Miller ... you led a wonderful, simple, and quiet life. You raised a wonderful family. You had a beautiful wife. I could only hope to emulate you and all you've accomplished. I don't know why I took such an interest in Mr. Miller. Perhaps to fill a void left in me by the recent passing of my own grandfather, Joseph last September. I've always respected and cared about the well being of the elderly. And Mr. Miller and I connected that day I helped him out whether we introduced ourselves or not. We became ... at least I became more concerned for him. More curious about his well-being. I became a silent voyeur of sorts who would take the opportunistic glances when going from outside to inside or the other way around at work. Just to make sure he was okay. Maybe for that first opportunity from that fateful day in May to smile and extend a waving hand. Something more.
There is another number that flashes out to me. Mr. Miller died on July 11th. That was truly personal and hard for me to take, not only because I had missed out on the opportunity to get to know him a little better or even for that one chance to present that smile and or wave, but also because 44 years ago on that day ... I was born. I think even though we never met completely ... in other words knew each others names and such ... a fitting tribute to Mr. Miller would be on my 90th birthday to finally pass away on the day he was born. I must find out when that was so I can set my sights on that goal. God bless you, Mr. Miller.
Jody L. Campbell
7/13/07
Posted at: 05:34 AM | Add Comment
