He was about 70 years old, holding a walking stick in his left hand, and seemed hesitated to take a step down from a kerb. I observed him, thinking that he should be able to take a step down since he was so careful. And he did. But seconds later, he slow lost his balance and fell onto the grass patch with his back landed on the ground lst. I panicked and rush towards him, dropping the bags of chocolates and cans of beers (Baby bought from DFS) onto the ground knowing that they are well protected by their packaging (and I know baby will forgive me for doing that). I quickly held his arms and slowly helped him up while asking “are you oke?”. He replied in English and said “ah, yes, yes, I am ok” Then he went on to explain to us that his right leg is weak. I was thinking of letting go of his arm when I realized that his hand was gripping tightly into mine.
It was that moment when I felt that he is not really that ok because from his grip, I could tell that he needed another support besides his walking stick. I asked where he is heading to and he replied that he needs to go to the taxi stand. We were just about 10 steps away but the walk seemed long. I held his hand and assured him take his time to walk no worries and we (baby and I) are heading to take a cab too. “You wait here” I said to him. Then I went to a cab and open the door. Then I returned to his side and helped him towards the cab. I let go of my hand and he sort of threw his walking stick into the car, and with careful moves, he slowly managed to move himself into the seat. I closed the door and was about to rush off with baby when I saw some blood stain on my blouse. “He is hurt!” I surprisingly let out. I open his taxi door before the cab move off and told him “I think you are hurt!” He held up his elbow and true enough, his skin was broken. I panicky searched my pouch for some plasters (thanks to my paraniod nature) and passed him three and a new packet of tissue paper (thanks to my unrecover flu). He insisted one is enough and return the balance to me and thanked us once again.
We went off to take the cab and rush to the institution to continue my course. I couldn’t pay attention right after that episode. “Where are his children? Does he have children? Where is his maid (Assuming he has)? Why he has to go out alone (he has a little plastic bag from Guardian Pharmacy)? Why so urgent he needs to buy and has go out alone despite knowing his own condition?"
Then I thought, I should have helped him to plaster his wound instead of giving him the plaster. I thought I should have done this, I should have done that. I thought I have not done enough.
Looking at that old fragile frame, it made me realized that no matter how authoritative, how successful, how educated, how rich you maybe during your prime years, neither of us could escape from the true hard facts that we still have to go through loneliness, helplessness, dependence, weakness, fear at our later stage in life. Only the youth, vibrant life that was colored on strangers’ faces, capture our attention and admiration. No one really pays attention to an old man/woman who looked like a black and white images in a busy street. Sometimes we even treated them transparently among the crowd.
How will my later years be I wonder? Will I even get through to those years??.....
1 comment:
How true about most of us going towards the same route in the end! But then again, there are many background stories to why this old man is alone and out although he is fragile. And while it is common belief that growing old is considered fortunate, it may not be the case if the ending is in loneliness.
Post a Comment