The Altitude of Gratitude

[schlomo]

Altitude of Gratitude

Yesterday near Queen’s Medical Center, I saw a disheveled homeless person buffeted by the wind. He had streams of garbage clinging to his body. He looked like a discarded scarecrow waiting to be refurbished with decayed plumage.

This person reminded me of John, one of my older community college students who I inexplicably happened to see sprawled at the dump as I was disposing my trash. In class, John was articulate and knowledgeable, always buoyant and optimistic, a role model for his classmates.

But at the dump, almost completely covered with refuse, John started to blubber about how despondent he was since his wife died a few months ago. I was stunned by his transformation miserable situation.

In class, John continued to be upbeat; but when he called me (sometimes late at night), he reemphasized his despair at losing his wife. My efforts to console him were futile until I mentioned group grief therapy. John attended every meeting and was ecstatic at the results: he unconditionally accepted the death of his wife. He no longer needed to call me for advice.

After the semester ended, I had no further contact with John. But I did once see him surrounded by his faithful grief comrades—or was I imagining the extent of this camaraderie. In any case, John was rescued from his self-pity. And I am glad that I had played a part in his recovery.