God Bless America

I find it ironic that Americans ask God to bless America when so few Americans bother to bless one another.

Returning to the parking lot after work the other day, I was greeted by a man who was obviously down on his luck. Downtown DC is a haven for pan handlers, some legit, some not. I am not in a good position to tell one from the other.

I'm not that far removed from a person who had to rummage through the car to find a few dollars from gas, nor I am that far removed from a person who was hospitalized for depression. The calendar may say I've been clean and sober for 18 years, but I'm still trying to get through today.

The man, whom I will call Joe, had just been released from the VA hospital after being in for alcohol detox. He was still wearing his hospital bracelet. He told me he was released with $20 and a train ticket home for the next day; he showed me the ticket, his last pay stub, and a photo of his 14-year old daughter. He also showed me the scar on his ankle from when he almost lost his foot from an injury overseas.

Mentally, I was still trying to get my arms around being released with $20 and a train ticket. Where are all those people with the "Support Our Troops" bumperstickers when this vet needs them?

Joe was trying to get another $12 to stay in a nearby hostel and avoid the temptations more common in the shelters. I told him about my sobriety. He asked about a meeting since this was the first day he hadn't been to one. We were near a public library and I suggested that would be a good place to find out. I wished him well and drove away.

When I got about half-way through the parking lot I remembered I had a bottle of water in my bag. I found Joe and gave it to him. I also gave him my 11-year AA chip. He cried and hugged me. I drove away for good.

I wonder about Joe. I wonder if he made it home and back to work. I wonder if he is still sober.