A footprint on my heart...

So i'm standing at the same welcoming doors of my work when he approaches me with bloodshot eyes and bushy hair. My heart could do nothing but bleed love for him.

About two months ago a well recommended waitor, became a companion of mine and a friend. His needs were just like any others and his love and care for others was expressed by his every action and deed. His smile would ignite the restaurant with warmth and happiness. His heart would embrace one and envelop them with a feeling of security. He was a friend to all. And he is surely missed.

It all began when he told me about his father's 'cognitive impairment'. The traditional yet offensive term is otherwise known as 'mental retardation'. This term has now become discreet to many as it carries a negative connotation and suggests inaccurate manifestations on the individual itself. 'Cognitive impairment' has now become the more accurate and more 'respectful' term in the health profession than 'mental retardation'.

Anyway, this friend told me he had to phone in the morning and book his father into mental institution, as his father was defficating (sorry about spelling) everywhere in the house. I don't know what the more polite way of putting it is, but to put it bluntly, he wouldn't walk to the toilet, but would simply do it where ever he walked in the house, whether it be his bed or the living room. There were other manifestations he described to me such as talking to himself or do things like roll out of the bed and lie there for hours.

To cut a long story short, two weeks later, after he had resigned from the same restaurant where i work. Both him and his mother found his dad on the bedroom floor, dead. Apparantly he had been lying there for two days.I don't know the exact story and i'm really not the one to post a story just for discussion but i have a point to this one.

Going into work the other day, a work colleage of mine tells me that this waitor, of whom's father had passed away, is now in the institution in Maritzberg. I brush a false story off very likely and tend to keep this information discreet. However tonight he approached the same doors again. Astonished to see him, of coarse i was. And i'm even ashamed to say that i was a little concerned at the time with what he may do next. As heartless as it sounds, one often becomes a little weary in these situations. . Of coarse i will take my precautions, but it made me realise otherwise.

As ashamed as i was to believe, i came to the conclusion that he's just like all of us.
He's still got the same heart as he had back then surely and he still needs some form of comfort and security from someone regardless, as we all do. He's on Prozac at the moment and apparently he's been released. What concerns me, is that everybody looks at him like he's a disease or an infection now. What was a loving, generous character before has now become a disease to society. He's infectious. Infectious enough that majority of the people he once called a friend, is heartless enough to walk away and pretend he never existed. The chuckles and whispers, enveloping his presence, i'm sure must be daunting for him.

We nod off to sleep in the evenings knowing everything is going to be ok at sunrise. That the friends we have today are an engraving on our hearts. They chisel their words into our hearts, as our families mould us into becoming a fine masterpiece.

But what if we lose everything we ever gained? What if these friends walk away from you in the span of a day or week? All it takes is a spread of word and that's it. You become another infectious disease.

Well, to me he's still the friendly, generous companion i once knew. He's got dreams and fears, just like everybody else. He's left a footprint on my heart today, and that's special to me*