For two days, I saw an old brown puffy coat as I swept past on the bridge. It looked like maybe it had blown out of the back of someone’s pickup truck and landed there at the mid-point of the long stretch over water. The first time I barely noticed it, but the second, I became curious. Two days later it was still there.
Upon arriving home I watched the news. A press conference. A local man missing, and his family pleading to the gathered crowd, asking for information on his whereabouts. He had been facing rough times and had become homeless about 6 months prior but kept in touch with the family who tried to help him when he accepted it. He was proud and wouldn’t take their “handouts” and often wouldn’t take help from the government, or the shelter or food pantry, feeling that he should be able to make it on his own. The image of the coat flashed through my mind quickly, but I wasn’t sure why.
After the weekend, the coat was still there on the bridge, looking a bit more tattered and damp from the rain. When I got home that night I saw a different news story. The body of the homeless man had been found, in the water – an apparent suicide. About 300 yards downstream from the bridge that I cross. Speculation was voiced that he may have jumped, and his body floated down to be found by a trail jogger. The same family now pleading for information about his last days, and anyone who may have seen him.
The image of the coat stuck in my mind the next morning as I drove to work. It was still there. A couple more days and the news reported of people coming forward – someone had seen a man late at night on the same bridge walking. Someone else had seen the man drop his coat, but no one stopped to ask or question or offer help if needed. Further evidence of how self-involved we have become as a society. Further evidence of our abandoning the homeless. The debates raged of course, the social commentary becoming an argument. An exercise in futility as nothing ever changes. A funeral was to be held, and his family thanked everyone who came forward with information. Any who knew him or just felt a kinship of humanity were welcome.
The next morning I saw the coat again. It was still there, and if anyone had made the connection, they didn’t seem to care. On the way home I stopped and picked it up. I checked the pockets to be sure nothing was there, then I washed and dried it, folded it and put it into a clean bag. I had decided to attend the funeral, not sure if the coat would make his family feel better or worse.
After the service I approached his parents and attempted to explain myself. I knew I must sound like an idiot, as I didn’t even know the man. Upon seeing the coat I thrust into their hands, his mother burst into tears, and I attempted a guilty escape. As I turned, she grabbed my arm and said “no, its not what you think. I’m actually happy to see this coat, and to know he was warm and had been wearing it. I gave it to him for his birthday two years ago… before he…” she trailed off. His father stepped in and shook my hand, thanking me. As I left, I saw them embrace, then take the coat from the bag and place it in the coffin. It made me glad I had done what I first thought to be a fool’s errand.
I think we find comfort where we can, and from things that are important to us. Who knows why the man no longer cared about the comfort of the coat or why he dropped it there, or why no one else picked it up. Maybe he chose not to die in something that signified family to him. Perhaps he left it for me, to remind me of how precious life is, and the value of choice and of living our lives as we please and how we choose. I know now that every time I go over that bridge, I think of him, and of kindness, and I feel grateful for that lesson.