Heaven

I wrote the following in the fall of 2010 as a reminder to myself that, in the most dire of circumstances, there can arise something wonderful.  It has been updated and revised a few times since then but I've tried to keep it that place I was when I first wrote it.  Whenever I'm having a particularly difficult time, I like to read it to adjust my outlook.  I hope it can do the same for you.

         Life is Hell.  Monotony piled upon dismal circumstances, it’s amazing I’ve kept my sanity this long.  Still, my strength is waning.  I think the solitude is the worst.  We weren’t meant to be so isolated, yet it seems my life is continually reduced to this lonesome state.

         I’ve always believed everyone has a purpose.  Our experiences in life prepare us for that which we’re meant to achieve.  So, I often wonder what horrid fate lies in wait for me.  What possible good could be served from such a dismal existence where my own happiness seems fleeting at best?

         Then I think back to my old life.  It was only a few months ago but it might as well have been a figment of my imagination.  Even then, in times I now consider better ones, I felt no shortage of unhappiness.  My mind is a ceaseless vortex of worry.  Life, it seems, always becomes a cycle of repetitiveness.  Then, the cycle breaks and a new one is started with only the slightest details changed.  Nevertheless, when we’re lost in the mindless predictability of our daily existence, surprises arise to remind us that even the most unremarkable of days can become something special.  One such occurrence from just before my old life crumbled sticks out in my mind, especially now.

         I was at work one evening, my heart and soul aching from the tediousness of retail work, when I was called to assist someone.  I still remember him clearly--a thin, graying man, his back hunched, sitting in one of the motorized carts the store carried for those who needed them.  Even seated, his body seemed unable to remain still, and constantly shifted and jerked sporadically.

         He looked up at me with a wobbling head, happy eyes, and the largest, most genuine smile I have ever seen.  His clear blue eyes gazed back at me and I could tell there remained a strong mind behind them.  Despite his obvious ailment, I had never before seen someone so happy.

         A string of drool descended from his lower lip and was caught by the napkin he clenched tightly in his shaky left hand.  He began to speak.  His words were hard to understand at first.  He stuttered terribly, with half formed words and disjointed sentences as he attempted to make his request. 

         I stood there, listening, straining to ascertain what he was saying.  It took a few moments, but I finally understood what he was after:  Slippers, of all things.  He’d forgotten to get them on his first tour of the store and was asking my help to locate them.

         Normally, I would simply point the person in the right direction and move on with my work.  By the time I understood what he was asking, I realized that this was going to take a bit more effort.  I agreed to show him the way.  He followed in the scooter which puttered along at a speed far too slow for me to walk comfortably and I had to will myself to move slower.

         Still, I stayed close and he talked, as best as he was able, about his day at our store.  It took more focus than I’ve come to give people lately, but most of it I understood.  He explained that he had Huntington’s disease, which resulted in his chaotic movements, slurred, broken speech, and a difficulty remembering things, sometimes as simple as his own name.  As a result, he often needed a great deal of assistance and shopping was quite an ordeal, but he didn’t seem embittered at all.  He just kept talking with that perplexing smile spread across his face.

         Unbelievably, once we finally made it to the department containing the slippers, the battery in his motorized cart died.  As we waited for a replacement to be brought over, I helped him pick out a pair of slippers.  I pulled them off the rack, stating their price before handing them over for his inspection.  All the while, he talked and I listened.  As I pieced together the fragmented sentences, I learned that I wasn’t the first employee to help him today and he was amazed by all the patient and personal attention he’d been given by all who’d helped him.

         Then, he looked up at me with watering eyes, as if he were about to cry, and said something quite unexpected.  “I’m in Heaven.” 

         The words, spoken with remarkable clarity and conviction despite his impediment, hit me in the chest like a wrecking ball.  He repeated himself.  “I’m in Heaven.”

         The nature of my job in customer services often requires me to keep an emotional neutrality about myself, as to not get too upset when I’m belittled by an angry shopper, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have to fight to hold back tears of my own.  It wasn’t for pity on this man whose body was at war with his still adept mind. 

         To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humbled.  I didn’t do anything fantastic for him and, from what I could grasp of what he said about the others who’d helped him, neither did anyone else.  We all, individually of each other, treated this man with patient respect, as we did with a thousand others before, and helped him find what he needed.  The only difference was this man genuinely appreciated the value of what we offered, not as retailers, but as fellow human beings.

         Some, like me, helped him find products in the store and ensured he stayed well within the limited budget he kept written on a folded piece of paper in his shirt pocket with his shopping list.  The food service employees, he told me, helped to prepare his food, applying his condiments for him and filling his soft drink so he didn't have to carry the full cup back to his table with his shaking limbs.  These were little things, often overlooked by those of us who are lost in the race that has become our daily lives.

         “I’m in Heaven.”

         He kept repeating it as the cart attendant and I helped to transfer his purchases into the new cart.  My throat was still in knots and I could tell my coworker was likewise taken aback.

         I escorted him to the front of the store with his words still hanging in the air.  As we journeyed past the racks of clothing I looked around the familiar store as if I’d never seen it before.  My eyes swept across the small crowds of people, bathed in the pale yellow of the fluorescent lights, as they clustered in short lines at the cash registers, eager to escape this place and get on with their day.

         I couldn’t help but wonder:  This is Heaven?

         If this place that I dreaded setting foot into everyday could be considered Heaven, any place could be.  It could have been the driver’s seat of my car as I prayed for the engine to just start so I could make it to work on time.  It could have been the living room of my apartment where I learned my roommate wouldn't be resigning our lease, leaving me less than a month to find a place I could afford by myself or be homeless.  It could have been the bedroom where I was heartlessly dumped by a girl I cared for more than she deserved. 

         It could even be the tiny, lonely room I find myself writing this story.

         Thinking back on that frail, but still remarkable, man, I've realized that Heaven isn’t so much a place.  It’s a state of mind.  The catch is that we can’t create it for ourselves.  We can, however, create it for others.

         My experience, though horrible, has a purpose.  The feeble collapse under the grief and stress but the strong are forged in the furnace of strife.  The weak and the fearful have tried to weigh me down with their selfishness but I cannot allow their weakness to become my own.  I can’t let this tremendous hurt embitter me, just as the man hadn’t allowed his own difficulty impede his own happiness. 

         I may never be a great man, powerful and rich.  I will be a good man, though, as I have been all these years.  So, whatever fate has in store for me, I will face it with the same determination that’s allowing me to survive my present.  I cannot create Heaven for myself but I can generate a small piece of it for others.

         The hope is, in return, others will begin to feel the same way.  The wave grows like a tsunami until, one day, we can all stop and say, with the most genuine smiles we've ever had, "I'm in Heaven."