Of all the sufferings in the world, I’ve always thought that loneliness must be one of the most brutal. We spring from the womb craving human love and contact. Giving and receiving love is the emotional staple of our existence. To be deprived of it, especially later in life, is an unimaginable grief.

Pity, then, Vincenzo Ricardo, of Hampton Bays, New York, who was found dead in his home this week. A neighbor had called the police to complain about a busted water pipe at the Ricardo house. When police entered, they found Vincenzo dead, sitting in a chair in front of a blaring television. After an autopsy, it was determined that he had been dead for over one year. In all that time, no one had expressed any interest or made any inquiries. Imagine that. A person so alone in the world that he could be dead for a year, and no one noticed. The only possible grace is that the year he spent dead was likely less tortuous than some of the years he spent alive.

In one of his talks, Gil Bailie says that sin is punishment in its early stages, and that punishment is just sin in its latter stages. I know there are people who choose to push others away, to erect barriers to love that leave them bereft and bitter in the autumn of their lives. But there are others, especially older people, who are simply forgotten. It is not their sin that leads to such suffering… it’s ours. Nearly thirty years ago, I worked as an orderly in a nursing home. There was one woman who got up every morning, put on her finest Sunday clothes, and rolled her suitcase to the front lobby to wait for her son. She would tell everyone who passed that her he was coming to take her home that very day. At noon, the staff would fetch her for lunch, careful to leave her suitcase by the door in case the son arrived. At night, the staff would persuade her that perhaps she had the days mixed up, that she must have confused this day with the next day, and so forth. Eventually, the woman would consent to being led back to her room for dinner, evening ablutions and bed. Then, the next morning, the whole thing would start again.

Here’s the sad kicker: The son never came. Never. Not even a visit. The loneliness this woman felt had made her delusional. It had driven her mad. And it was the fault of her very real son, who simply abandoned her. To this day, it remains one of the saddest things I’ve ever witnessed.

Reading about Vincenzo Ricardo, I was reminded of the John Prine song, Hello In There:

Ya’ know that old trees just grow stronger,
And old rivers grow wilder ev’ry day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello.”

So if you’re walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes,
Please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare
As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello.”

Is there someone you know who could use a “hello in there?” Is there someone who would appreciate a visit, a telephone call, some expression of human love? Don’t let someone you know die like Vincenzo Ricardo. Perhaps their death will be on your conscience.

(Mark Gordon)

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 18th, 2007 at 11:15 am and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.