I saw a man crap his pants

I saw a man crap his pants

He was my friend, my best friend. I really don’t think there is anything that can permanently alter a friendship that quickly or resolutely. It kind of leaves you speechless, which in my case is quite unexpected. Usually words flow out my mouth like the water rushing through a gorge after a long heavy rain. But, not this time, I was speechless.

I wasn’t really sure where to go from there. Could I counter with, ‘So, How ‘bout dem Bears?’ No, I don’t think so. The sounds were undisguisable, and the aroma left no doubt what had just happened. There was a slightly awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say. There is no doubt that this ranks among one of the most uncomfortable situations to recover from with grace and dignity. Surely that’s true for him, his lunch just escaped unannounced. It was also uncomfortable for me too. The reality was that I had just witnessed something no man ever wants his friends to see.

I briefly thought about making a quick escape with, “All right, well I gotta run” and making a hasty retreat for the nearest opening I could fit through. Finding the right words at a time like that is touchy at best. I couldn’t use the word ‘run’ for sure and on the spot my built in thesaurus failed me. “I gotta go’ was also out, given that he just had. I could think of no alternate word that would fill the gap in that sentence. Besides, deep down, I knew that I couldn’t leave at that exact moment. I had made no mention of needing to be anywhere else and the timing of such an announcement now would immediately be suspect. No, leaving right then was wrong in to many ways, I had to stay.

Realizing that, many moments of awkward silence surrounded us like an omnipresence cloud, both literally and figuratively. Both of us, I am sure, searching for words that were appropriate. Many thoughts ran through my head. I have always preferred a direct approach; cuts out all the nonsense, removes the ambiguity and gets right to the point.

I mean, really, we could try to outwait the smell and pretend it didn’t happen, but too many diaper changes haunted my past and made it clear to me that wasn’t a valid option. No, something had to be done. Still preferring the direct approach, I prepared myself to say “Well, it’s obvious you crapped yourself, so we are going to have to do something about this”. Finally the words I had been searching for appeared out of the cluttered mess of what would otherwise be organized thoughts. I asked him with my most understanding and caring voice, “Should I go get a nurse to help us out here?”. To which he, clearly embarrassed, apologized and said, “Yes, that would be a good idea”.

I left the hospital room that day with a gut wrenching realization; I was witnessing my best friend dying. This was the first of many such occasions in the months before his death. It was hard to take, I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew that he was dying. Knowing its true doesn’t stop you from hanging onto any little piece of hope that this might change. After all, it was only a little scratch that landed him in the hospital, yes, it had turned into an infection, but really could this be the end? The finality of it was looming in my mind, though it would be nothing I would talk about except with my wife. I didn’t want to acknowledge publicly that a once great man was diminishing right before my eyes. Admitting that meant the end of more than a friendship, it meant the end of an incredible person.

He was a man that had taught me so much. He taught me about politics, people, creative thinking, optimism, hope and life in general. There was connection between us that sort of transcended words. We just became friends; there was no decision, no pretense and no effort. It just happened.

Prior to his death he had been my best friend for years. I trusted him more than any single person I know outside of my father and wife. Still though, I was not a good friend to him. That I knew.

About 6 or 8 months before he landed in the hospital, I became upset with him. In retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal, but he had been in a foul mood and wasn’t treating me with the respect I felt I deserved. I left that day and decided I didn’t need to spend time with people like that and I never called or visited him again prior to him calling me from his hospital bed.

Receiving that call shook me to my core. I knew I had been a bad friend, that I had let an elevated sense of self importance destroy a relationship. Deep down I knew that he wasn’t perfect and even though I am not either, I was not able to overlook his imperfection. I had cut him out of my life because he had a bad day.

The moment he called me is etched in my mind. I was out of town on business, sitting in a hotel room in New York City. It had been a long day, and I was still finishing up some work that I needed to have ready for the next day at the office. I hardly ever answer my phone at that time of the day, but for some reason I felt compelled to. I was very surprised by the voice at the end of the line. He seemed fine, but told me in short order that he had been hospitalized with a staff infection from a scratch on his leg, he should be out of the hospital by the weekend.

I don’t know why, but I instantly knew that he wouldn’t be. I knew that this was somehow more urgent and simultaneously, I knew that I had been an awful friend. With a combination of guilt, remorse, concern and genuine love, I knew I had to go visit him.

I put my work down the rest of the night and I reflected on my lack of acceptance of him. It’s one of those personal insights that is very disturbing. You don’t really want to know that about yourself, that you are that shallow. That you feel you are so important, that you are so self righteous that you can’t even accept others for who they are. How many times in my life had I been forgiven? How many times had I come forth, head hanging, shamefully expecting others to overlook my imperfections? Yet, I did not extend that same grace to someone I truly cared about.

Despite the title, this post really isn’t about a man crapping himself. It’s about so much more. It’s about friendship, forgiveness; it’s about hope, love and caring. It’s about a man I knew at his height of greatness and also at his lowest. It’s about being able to accept people, it’s about being accepted. But above all, it’s about the love, forgiveness and acceptance that is given to each of us every day by our heavenly father. How much more can we expect when we give so much less?