Gillion.
I met a man with Alzheimer's today. I was really nice to him when I was ringing up his items. I came across two olive oil bottles of differing sizes while the man told me something about just checking the price of one and ringing up the other. I made a mistake and rang up both, and he paid for both of them. He came back a half hour later and kindly asked me to refund. I apologized and refunded. He left again. About twenty minutes later he asked me to check his receipt again to see if he got the correct price for the yogurt he purchased. I took him to the aisle where the yogurt was and showed him the price, taking him through the entire receipt to make sure he got the right price. He understood that everything was correct, but he didn't fail to point out that the specific flavors he wanted weren't in stock. I gave him a raincheck and we were done. I didn't have any customers, so he stuck around.
One conversation led to another and he eventually gave me an account of his life. He spoke slowly and awkwardly, sometimes forgetting what he was going to say. I sometimes finished his sentences or guessed what he was going to say, but most of the time I was totally wrong! He sure made good conversation about his life. He said he was adopted but still kept in contact with his biological parents, but his real father passed away about a year ago. I asked if people call him to make sure he's okay; he told me that his adoptive parents call him every week to make sure everything is fine. He told me about going to school for the gifted children, and when he was a sophomore he was already being accepted to colleges! They wouldn't take him, though, because he hadn't graduated. He told me about how he got a 1160 on his SATs and that he got a four-year college tuition for it. After he graduated, he told me that he went on to be a teacher and led several charity subgroups for starving children. His adoptive parents adored him and gave him many gifts, including two new cars! He told me of when he went to college. He joined an international club and he had friends in it that were from all over the world and he visited their countries while in the club. He told me that he had been to 23 states in the U.S.!
The way he reminisced... I saw sparkles in those eyes of his. He was so happy that someone took the time to listen to him. I asked him if he lived alone; he said yes.
As I was listening to him, my eyes teared up a little. I saw an aging, lonely, overweight black man with Alzheimer's who just needed to talk to someone. He was giving his account of life to a complete stranger with such enthusiasm that I couldn't help but be happy too. His speech was slightly slurry and he often forgot what he was going to say, but I listened. I listened and I listened and thank god I did. Most people would be annoyed with this type of person, but I felt compelled to listen to him. I had to. There was something inside of me that told me to listen and pay attention to every detail. Why would he share his story with me if he thought I wasn't going to listen?
I weep for him not out of pity, but out of feeling that he was really happy when he spoke to me. He was filled with such happiness at speaking to me that I nearly burst in tears after hearing him for a few minutes. It was unreal, to say the least. Afterwards I wonder if he kept in contact with his friends, or if he had any children or siblings. I wanted to know more about this man, but our time was cut short when I had to do some duties at work. I was sad to say goodbye and hoped that he would continue his story some day.
His name was Gillion.
One conversation led to another and he eventually gave me an account of his life. He spoke slowly and awkwardly, sometimes forgetting what he was going to say. I sometimes finished his sentences or guessed what he was going to say, but most of the time I was totally wrong! He sure made good conversation about his life. He said he was adopted but still kept in contact with his biological parents, but his real father passed away about a year ago. I asked if people call him to make sure he's okay; he told me that his adoptive parents call him every week to make sure everything is fine. He told me about going to school for the gifted children, and when he was a sophomore he was already being accepted to colleges! They wouldn't take him, though, because he hadn't graduated. He told me about how he got a 1160 on his SATs and that he got a four-year college tuition for it. After he graduated, he told me that he went on to be a teacher and led several charity subgroups for starving children. His adoptive parents adored him and gave him many gifts, including two new cars! He told me of when he went to college. He joined an international club and he had friends in it that were from all over the world and he visited their countries while in the club. He told me that he had been to 23 states in the U.S.!
The way he reminisced... I saw sparkles in those eyes of his. He was so happy that someone took the time to listen to him. I asked him if he lived alone; he said yes.
As I was listening to him, my eyes teared up a little. I saw an aging, lonely, overweight black man with Alzheimer's who just needed to talk to someone. He was giving his account of life to a complete stranger with such enthusiasm that I couldn't help but be happy too. His speech was slightly slurry and he often forgot what he was going to say, but I listened. I listened and I listened and thank god I did. Most people would be annoyed with this type of person, but I felt compelled to listen to him. I had to. There was something inside of me that told me to listen and pay attention to every detail. Why would he share his story with me if he thought I wasn't going to listen?
I weep for him not out of pity, but out of feeling that he was really happy when he spoke to me. He was filled with such happiness at speaking to me that I nearly burst in tears after hearing him for a few minutes. It was unreal, to say the least. Afterwards I wonder if he kept in contact with his friends, or if he had any children or siblings. I wanted to know more about this man, but our time was cut short when I had to do some duties at work. I was sad to say goodbye and hoped that he would continue his story some day.
His name was Gillion.