SEND ME A PURPOSE COPYRIGHT 2013 RZEVANS
Loreen's days seemed to pass so slowly. She needed something else to do, something to occupy her time and thoughts. She didn't think it was right for her to seek a paying job when there were so many women in need of employment, suffering desperate situations. A small inheritance allowed her, if she were careful, to get by without having to be gainfully employed. She did drive into town twice a week to help out with the senior citizen meals but found that just wasn't enough. The rest of the week left her often despondent. If only Dennis hadn't died; she still sometimes dreamed that he would come swinging down the path from the mailbox, whistling like he used to. She had held hope in her heart for a long time because they never found his body, just the old sedan wedged in some trees downstream from the crossing. If his mind had been on something else, the constable said, he would never have seen the wall of water that came rushing down the river. She tried to keep her mind off that tragic day, and the agony she had gone through during those first weeks. Now, her immediate need was for something else, or someone to care for; she needed a purpose. Twice she had accepted invitations to dinner by men that she had deemed nice. Each time before the dinner was finished, she sensed the fishing nature of the men's questions. They were trying to get her to discuss her financial status. Twice was enough for her, and she gave up on trying to find another to share her life with.
Loreen did derive a lot of pleasure from feeding her birds, and she also enjoyed watching what road traffic there was when it passed, often waving to
her neighbors if she happened to catch their attention. Thus she had placed the bird feeders in the front yard so she could see the birds, the road, and the front path at the same time. She hung the hummingbird feeders just above the front porch railing. That made for a mess on the railing due to the orioles lighting and tipping the feeders, but she didn't really mind. She complained about the mess, but often thought that the birds saved her sanity. On
one particular day she was watching the birds out the kitchen window when a man shuffled up to the roadside mailbox, opened the box, and started going through the msil. He then placed it all back in the box and backed off a few steps to where he could again read the name and numbers on the box. He stood there scratching his head for a moment and then walked over to the oak tree and sat down. He opened a paper sack and started eating his lunch. He didn't look threatening, but Loreen decided she had better call the constable's office. The man looked as if he might need help.
The officer's car arrived, and Loreen watched as he questioned the individual. The man handed the officer what appeard to be some identification. The fellow had on old clothes that were too big for him, and it looked as though he hadn't shaved for a long time. The officer gave the fellow a good long look and then put him into the patrol car.
Later that afternoon, the officer called Loreen and told her that he had taken the man to the station, and he had personally bought him some toilet articles, new clothes and after the man had a good bath, he had taken him to the barber for a shave and haircut. Loreen said that she knew Mike was a good person, but asked why he had gone to all that trouble and expense, because she knew he came into contact with a lot of people that were down on their luck. Mike told her that the best way he could answer that question was for him to come by the next morning and let her read a letter from a man named Charley.
"My name is Charley Lay and I live pretty far out in the county. This letter is for whoever it is given to. Three years ago I pulled a man from the river, and he was in bad shape. When he finally got over his sickness, he was like an eight year old child. The only thing I could salvage from his personal belongings was the plastic coated driver's license and his money. The money dried out ok, and I put it back in the fillfold with his license. I kept him here because he was my friend, and I didn't want him in an institution. He has been happy, and we walk and fish together. Lately I have been in bad health, and I told him that if anything happened to me, to leave and go into the city to the address on the driver's license. Maybe I was wrong to keep him here, but I thought I did what was best. Charley."
Loreen read the letter and started crying. Mike let her cry; he figured she needed a good long cry. After a few minutes, he asked what it was that she wanted to do. "Bring him home, of course," she said, "I need him probably more thatn he needs me."
Loreen's days seemed to pass so slowly. She needed something else to do, something to occupy her time and thoughts. She didn't think it was right for her to seek a paying job when there were so many women in need of employment, suffering desperate situations. A small inheritance allowed her, if she were careful, to get by without having to be gainfully employed. She did drive into town twice a week to help out with the senior citizen meals but found that just wasn't enough. The rest of the week left her often despondent. If only Dennis hadn't died; she still sometimes dreamed that he would come swinging down the path from the mailbox, whistling like he used to. She had held hope in her heart for a long time because they never found his body, just the old sedan wedged in some trees downstream from the crossing. If his mind had been on something else, the constable said, he would never have seen the wall of water that came rushing down the river. She tried to keep her mind off that tragic day, and the agony she had gone through during those first weeks. Now, her immediate need was for something else, or someone to care for; she needed a purpose. Twice she had accepted invitations to dinner by men that she had deemed nice. Each time before the dinner was finished, she sensed the fishing nature of the men's questions. They were trying to get her to discuss her financial status. Twice was enough for her, and she gave up on trying to find another to share her life with.
Loreen did derive a lot of pleasure from feeding her birds, and she also enjoyed watching what road traffic there was when it passed, often waving to
her neighbors if she happened to catch their attention. Thus she had placed the bird feeders in the front yard so she could see the birds, the road, and the front path at the same time. She hung the hummingbird feeders just above the front porch railing. That made for a mess on the railing due to the orioles lighting and tipping the feeders, but she didn't really mind. She complained about the mess, but often thought that the birds saved her sanity. On
one particular day she was watching the birds out the kitchen window when a man shuffled up to the roadside mailbox, opened the box, and started going through the msil. He then placed it all back in the box and backed off a few steps to where he could again read the name and numbers on the box. He stood there scratching his head for a moment and then walked over to the oak tree and sat down. He opened a paper sack and started eating his lunch. He didn't look threatening, but Loreen decided she had better call the constable's office. The man looked as if he might need help.
The officer's car arrived, and Loreen watched as he questioned the individual. The man handed the officer what appeard to be some identification. The fellow had on old clothes that were too big for him, and it looked as though he hadn't shaved for a long time. The officer gave the fellow a good long look and then put him into the patrol car.
Later that afternoon, the officer called Loreen and told her that he had taken the man to the station, and he had personally bought him some toilet articles, new clothes and after the man had a good bath, he had taken him to the barber for a shave and haircut. Loreen said that she knew Mike was a good person, but asked why he had gone to all that trouble and expense, because she knew he came into contact with a lot of people that were down on their luck. Mike told her that the best way he could answer that question was for him to come by the next morning and let her read a letter from a man named Charley.
"My name is Charley Lay and I live pretty far out in the county. This letter is for whoever it is given to. Three years ago I pulled a man from the river, and he was in bad shape. When he finally got over his sickness, he was like an eight year old child. The only thing I could salvage from his personal belongings was the plastic coated driver's license and his money. The money dried out ok, and I put it back in the fillfold with his license. I kept him here because he was my friend, and I didn't want him in an institution. He has been happy, and we walk and fish together. Lately I have been in bad health, and I told him that if anything happened to me, to leave and go into the city to the address on the driver's license. Maybe I was wrong to keep him here, but I thought I did what was best. Charley."
Loreen read the letter and started crying. Mike let her cry; he figured she needed a good long cry. After a few minutes, he asked what it was that she wanted to do. "Bring him home, of course," she said, "I need him probably more thatn he needs me."