The Old Black Man

I have a neighbor by the name of Mr. Bradly. He is a nice old man who is very lonely. When we first moved into our apartment he was the only one of our neighbors who welcomed us. He was the only one who even acknowledged us, in fact. He really enjoyed sitting on is front patio and watching the kids play. He would visit with them and give them cookies. My children loved to talk and he loved to listen to them. At first I was cautious, as any mother would be, but I realized quickly that he is just a lonely sweet man.

About a year after we moved here a strong robust Mr. Bradly got really sick. He spent 3 months in the hospital and came home a skinny sick man. It was really sad to see the transformation that happened to him. I had just given birth to Alana and my hands were pretty full, but I still tried to see him once in a while.

Over the last year and a half he as been in and out of the hospital but never gets better, just worse. He lives alone but his mother and sister do come to see him from time to time. They don't come nearly enough. I feel so terrible for him so I try to do what I can. I was taking him dinner for a while until he very nicely told me that he does not like "white people food". I really didn't know what that meant so I asked my good friend (who is black) and she said lots of cornbread, beans and chicken grease (yummy).

I've had some interesting experiences with him and been given some glimpses into southern black culture. One day I was over helping him clean out his pantry when his preacher came a knocking. He was a big round black man that Mr. B calls Santa. He came over to pray so I offered to leave and give them sometime. The preacher looked at me and said "Madam do you believe in our Lord Jesus Christ" Yes. "Then you may stay and pray for the health of Mr. Bradly" Ok. At this point he whips out a bottle of oil and crossed Mr. B on the forehead, promptly turns and does the same thing to me. We all hold hands and he begins. Now at this point I am not sure what to do, as this is not how I pray. I look at Mr. B and he is looking up at Preacher with admiration and anticipation.  I bow my head, with anticipation...... It was everything that TV and movies show it is. His voice sang as he spoke and after every sentence Mr B would reply with "yes Lord" or "amen Lord". When is was over Mr. B was crying and Preacher was hugging. I was feeling the spirit. I realized that these two men have as much, if not more, faith than I do. They understand that Jesus Christ is our Savior and that he atoned for our sins. They might not have a complete understanding of the gospel but they have faith and obedience to what they do know. Their religion maybe different and the way they practice it foreign to me, but God loves them and I could feel it in that room. I left that day feeling blessed that I could be a witness to something so wonderful. Something I will never forget.

I don't think Mr. Bradly is long for this world. He talks now of "when he's gone" and I think it will happen before we move. To be honest I hope he does die before we leave in twenty months. I know that he has a place is heaven waiting for him and I also know that once I am gone no one else will be here to look in on him. That would be sadder for me then him passing.