Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
John Donne
Utilization of the Hudson River crossings, whether bridge or tunnel, has always made me acutely conscious of mortality. As vehicles clog the approaches and jockey for position, injury and worse loom as probabilities. Recently, I confronted one of my bêtes noire, and journeyed northward on the NJ Turnpike, linking to the Holland Tunnel.
Amazingly, despite the traffic jams, road work, and general vehicular mayhem, I arrived in the City early for my appointment, and needed to kill some time. After choosing a parking garage and orienting myself, I stopped at a coffee shop to relax as much as possible in that environment.
The Sunday New York Times caught my eye, with a front page, above the fold headline reading "The Lonely Death of George Bell." Having never heard of the man, it piqued my interest as to why his death stood commemorated in such a prestigious newspaper. As I read the exquisitely written, impeccably researched article, the reason for its prominence became clear.
Mr. Bell had been a disabled, 73-year-old resident of an apartment house in Jackson Heights in the Borough of Queens. He died alone in his residence and remained undiscovered until another tenant of the building recognized the smell of putrefaction, and called the police. The officers were forced to enter wearing haz mat suits due to the decomposition of the body and general clutter and uncleanliness of the apartment.
When a death occurs in one of the boroughs of New York City, there are government agencies which investigate, and try to find heirs. Eventually, a will was discovered, and, since the deceased had lost contact with them, none of them knew that the man had died. Most of the heirs had also died, and it fell to the agency to locate their heirs. It turned out that this man who lived in filth and squalor had assets totaling about $500,000. He had also specified a desire to have his body cremated.
Most people have other people in their lives, family and friends whom they love, and who will grieve their loss. Mr. Bell seemed to have lived and died without causing a ripple. He had taken care of his mother until her death, and never married the woman he loved during his youth. With some friends, he formed a moving company, and worked until he became disabled. When his surviving friends were located, they said that the man had had a problem with alcoholism, yet he was not missed at the neighborhood watering hole he once frequented. He lived on meals which he had delivered, yet none of the eateries wondered why he stopped ordering. None of the neighbors in the apartment house noticed his absence. The people who inherited his estate had never heard of him. His body was finally cremated respectfully, according to his wishes. Whether he voluntarily chose isolation, or it was forced upon him, no one will ever know.
Gazing out of the coffee shop window at the scurrying residents of New York, I found myself hoping that everyone would establish a connection with another human being, who would grieve for them, and miss their presence in the world.
Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 1 John 4:11 (NIV)
Contributed by Carol
Monday November 16, 2015
Liturgical Year B: Week 51
Liturgical Color: Green
Sunday Gospel reading: Proper28
Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost