Sunday morning, December 30th around 9am a homeless man died in my parents home of health complications. Robert was only 52. My mother had taken him in since April. He had been divorced twice and his second wife had just remarried. He had children from both marriages that he rarely got to see. Robert died as much from a broken heart as a failed heart.
He served his country for years in uniform, and was helpful to my mother as a handy man doing odd jobs to help around the house. When I arrived at the scene, several police cars parked along the road and the officers inside the house asked questions, took pictures, finally carried out the body and left. We were left with lots of questions, lots of tears, and lots of quiet moments of reflection. We reflected on the few good moments with this humble man, and realized he was "one of the least of these".
May Robert's memory forever remind us that people need love and attention and help and understanding. No one is perfect, but no one should be left behind or alone. I spent enough time with Robert to know him well enough to miss him, and long enough to realize his life was cut short and he missed out on many of the good things life has to offer. His life now is in God's hands, the same God who holds our lives in His hands and holds us accountable for what we do with our life.
To Robert
