LINK:A chance meeting to extend warm hand to a stranger before his death
by Judy Knotts (Austin-American Statesman)
Friday evening I stopped for a light at the South Lamar Boulevard and
U.S. 290, that mixing bowl of multilayered ramps that demands defensive
driving skills and Zen-like calm, and rolled down my window to greet a
man "flying a sign." "No money" I said, "Just visiting." He was
surprisingly delighted with my friendliness and old-fashioned word,
"visiting." I asked his name, "Freddie Arbuckle Jr." he answered with
dignity and pride. I told him mine. Money didn't matter to Freddie, but
other pressing matters did, he said "I am so lonely; I have no one to
talk to." "Well you have me now," I said.
Freddie had done some
day labor earlier and was heading home to his tent in the woods. Feeling
unrushed, we talked; the traffic light must have been jammed or perhaps
time was suspended just for us. I told him I was on my way to the
Mobile Loaves & Fishes Commissary to go out on the food truck and
asked if he was hungry, suggesting that perhaps we could swing by his
spot. He said, "Thanks, I don't need any food."
Keeping my right
hand on the steering wheel, I extended my left hand to Freddie. Unlike
most handshakes, we didn't pull apart, but hung on to each other the
entire time we talked, feeling very much at home, hand-in-hand.
As
I looked down at my hand enclosed in his, I saw our diverse worlds
collide and connect; the white skin of my ancestors contrasting with the
darker tones of his heritage. His hand was nearly square,
dirt-spattered, and hard with calluses from honest labor and
homelessness. My slender hand with old lady liver spots and blue veins
visible through the thin skin felt insubstantial in his grasp, yet we
fit together perfectly it seemed to both of us.
After a while, the
light turned green and I was on my way, but Freddie stayed in my
thoughts. When I got home hours later, for no reason that I can fathom, I
wrote down his name. That Sunday I did something unexpected, I read the
death notices. It jumped out at me, "Freddie Arbuckle Jr., age 45 died,
Friday night." I realized that I might have been the last person to
talk to him.
Shocked, I tried to sort out what had happened to him
and between us. I am conservative and a planner by nature. Bills are
paid on time, oil changes and dental checks are on the calendar months
ahead. I like being in control; however, sometimes I surprise myself by
being impulsive. It's almost as if something takes over my senses
temporarily and I act. This is what I believe happened when I rolled
down my window and said, "No money, just visiting."
For most of my
life, I attributed this kind of experience to spontaneity on my part
often resulting in a serendipitous event, like all of the planets being
aligned to produce an unforgettable moment in which I was the
beneficiary.
I no longer believe in serendipity; too many
astonishing moments like connecting with Freddie hours before he died
make me believe that there is a plan and a divine planner. For me, there
is just no other explanation, otherwise, why did two strangers come
together, hold hands and share deepest feeling for a few moments on the
side of a busy highway?
I believe in free will, but I don't
believe that Freddie or I willed this incredible, intimate exchange. It
happened miraculous outside our doing.
Blessed by this encounter, I
wonder if I can stop trying to control life and lean more frequently
into the mystery that is full of grace? I wonder if I can truly say
"Yes" to what I call the Holy Spirit and not know where it will take me?
Freddie
spoke bravely of the fundamental fear we all have of being alone and
unloved. But by his vulnerability and outreach to another person, I
believe Freddie died full of love, from God, the Divine Planner who is
love itself, through me, to him, and back again in a circle you could
almost touch.
Freddie died of a heroin overdose that night.
Judy Knotts is the former head of St. Gabriel's Catholic School in Austin and a friend of the homeless community.
