That Ole Vet and Me



On this Veterans Day:
To the men and women serving or have served in our armed forces  I appreciate what you do for us and the sacrifice you've made.  With that in mind, I'd like to tell a story from my teenage years about an Ole Vet and me.

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"12 Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, 13 bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive" 

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It was my first real job right out of high school. I was working as a nurses' aide at Grant Memorial Hospital when I met Ralph. He said he was just an Ole Vet, but I thought he should have added the word mean in there somewhere. He was not an easy patient. And for some reason, he really didn't like me. I couldn't do anything right. I was too young. I was a girl. I was this and I was that. And he let me know real fast that I was too incompetent to be his aide. 

SO...because I was young, and because I wasn't feeling a lot of love for Ralph either, and because the orderly was right there, I decided that it was okay for me to avoid him. And I tried my best to do just that. His call light would come on and I'd find an orderly, then stand just outside Ralph's door. I was willing to assist from the hallway and it sort of worked out. But one night that Ole Vet insisted I come to his room...alone. At first, I declined telling the orderly I'd help but I would not go in alone. Ralph, however, insisted that I was the only one he wanted. And I was not happy about that, but...because it was my job...and because he was a patient...and because my mom would have killed me for disrespecting a patient especially a veteran, into that room I went. And my worldview was forever changed.

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I had the words I would use planned out: Yes sir. No sir. Okay. How can I help you? Do you need more water? Y'all know the quote about mice and men and the plans they make? Yeah...so did that Ole Vet. He had his own plan and it went down like this:

Me: How can I help you?
Ralph: "I am sorry for being mean to you."
Me: "That's okay."
Ralph: "There's something about you I don't like."
Me: "Okay...sorry about that."
Ralph: "Can I tell you something?"
Me: "Yes sir."
Ralph: "You make me want to talk."
Me: "Okay...?"
Ralph: "That's why I don't like you coming in here. I don't want to talk."
Me: "Uh...okay."
Ralph: "I really don't want to talk..."

I watched as that Ole Vet's eyes focused on the closet door and then he drifted off into the past…and he started talking, telling me a story...his story. A story that I will never-ever forget.

His story had my seventeen-year-old self in silent tears as it bonded us together forever. A story that broke down generational and personal walls while thawing my heart, revealing a lot of compassion for that Ole Vet. A story that, as the weeks passed by, made me Ralph's aide and him my friend. He never spoke of that night to me again nor I to him. But he was my patient and he helped me learn how to become a good aide. And months later, I was there holding his head as he took his final breath. I was glad to be  there for him till the end, it allowed me to add a new ending to his story: a peaceful one. Over the years, I've shared Ralph's story with my own family. And now I share it with you. I retell his story for a lot of reasons....one so that he will not be forgotten and two because we all have a defining story.

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You see, each of us has something in our past that makes us who we are today. Be that person kind or bitter; nice or unfriendly; weak or strong. And this something has power over us. Like Ralph, when we tell our story, when we trust God with it, its power is either unleashed or broken. Ralph didn't like me because, by his own admission, there was something about me that made him want to trust me with his story. A story he wanted to forget but one that wouldn't let him go. He was hoping that I'd understand him better and then, hopefully, offer him a little compassion. Compassion that in all reality, before he shared his story, I wasn't able to offer. I was too geared to taking folks at face value, unable to see beyond their exterior. 

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You know, there are many Ralph-like  people out there...thousands of them sitting around our neighborhoods frozen by fear at the thought of breaking chains of bondage or of unleashing God's power in their lives. 

And then there are people like my teenage self. People willing to see beyond the bitterness, willing  to see others the way God sees them. People willing to listen to your story.  

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Ralph’s story was about his time in war. A story that was so graphic and still so real to him that when he was done, he looked over at me as if he'd forgotten I was even there. And from that night on, during my work shifts...we didn't have to talk at all, we just knew that his story was still between us and that it had opened my heart of compassion for him. For Ralph and I, just knowing that I was willing to listen when he didn't want to talk was enough; and that it was okay to communicate in silence as just that Ole Vet and me.

In Loving Memory of Ralph: As long as I live, you will not be forgotten. 
Rest easy Ole Vet...rest easy...Dreama

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