Define Suffering

         No matter what he did, how much he beckoned, there was nobody there to save him.  Or perhaps it was quick and he did nothing at all, felt no pain or fear.  For nearly three days – it’s unimaginable – he laid there, unknown to all who lived nearby.  Oh, he was found; he was just found too late.
         This sounds like fiction, or perhaps a nightmare – one that you wake from in a cold sweat, your heart beating as though it’s seeking freedom from your chest.  Nobody, victim nor bystander, should have to live or die through this.  What’s scarier is that this is fact; it happened in August of 2002.
         My husband, Tim, was returning from taking our dog on her evening walk; we were getting ready to retire for the night.  I was to start college the next day.  The semester had already begun, as it was actually Monday, but my first class was not until Tuesday.  I was excited; at twenty-two I was finally going back, ready to do something nobody in two generations of my family had done.  I knew it would be difficult to sleep that night, but I thought it would be anticipation keeping me awake.
         “There’s something wrong,” Tim began, hanging the dog leash.  “Nobody has heard from or seen Will in a couple of days.  His lights are on in his place, too.”
         Will was an eighty-two-year-old widower who lived in the complex just two doors from us.  We reside in one-fifty-four, Will in one-fifty-two.  We in fact had seen him, but that was Saturday morning.
         Goose-bumps covered my arms.  “Is his car in his parking space?”  I inquired.
         “Yes.  I’m heading over with a flashlight.  Will’s girlfriend is out front in tears.  She hasn’t spoken with him since Friday.”
         I wasn’t aware Will had a girlfriend.  I only knew that he lived alone.  “Let me get my jeans on, I’m coming, too.”
         Our four-unit building was buzzing with action.  Brenda from one-fifty-one and Donna from one-fifty-three, accompanied by her boyfriend, were circling Will’s unit, shouting his name and banging on windows.  Brenda’s daughter, Brittany, was trying to comfort our neighbor’s girlfriend.  Tim and I joined in on the search.  I noticed there were two newspapers lying untouched in front of his door and several lights were glowing from inside.  We knocked and yelled and tried to peer inside the blind-covered windows, but we never got a response or saw any sign of the resident.
         Periodically, Donna would go back into her home and dialed Will’s phone.  From outside we could hear it ring, but that was the only sound that came from the seemingly empty home.  After nearly half an hour, I went into our house and called the Tarpon Springs Police Department.  I explained what was going on but was only informed that an officer would be out shortly.  When I returned outside Brenda told me she had done the same not too long before; however, nobody had shown up.
         Another thirty minutes passed; no police had arrived and we had not heard from Will.  I called the police again; “We are aware of the situation and a unit is on its way.”  By now I was losing hope and patience.
         Tim had also had enough.  “A few months ago Will locked his keys in his car.  I was out here when he did it.”  Tim continued.  “I offered to help him, but he said it had happened before; he’d just go into the house through the window and get the spare car key.  He walked over to this window…,” he pointed in indication, “…and removed one of the panels.  Then he unlocked the window with the help of a broom handle.  I wonder…”  We followed him to the same window; it was the window leading into the kitchen.  Sure enough; the pane was actually a piece of plastic laid in place and disguised as part of the window.  Donna fetched a broom and, after some struggle, Tim was able to unlock the glass.
         However, nobody volunteered to go inside.  I poked my head in a called Will’s name; still, no answer.  It was cold indoors – almost like a crypt.
         Finally, hearing his girlfriend’s pleas, I decided to climb in.  Donna warned me that Will had a shot-gun, which didn’t help steady my nerves at all.  “Will!  It’s Angela from one-fifty-four!  I’m just coming in to help you!”  I repeated myself several times, half making my presence known and half hoping for a reply.
         “Unlock the door!” I heard somebody say through the window.  I slowly made my way through the kitchen towards the front door.  This room was not lit, but the nearby living-room and bedroom were.  I released the dead-bolt on the door and threw it open.  All I got was a group of blank stares.
         “Do you see him?” his girlfriend sobbed.
         “No, but I haven’t gone into any of the rooms.”  I turned from the crowd and, with some relief, was this time accompanied by my husband.  Unfortunately, I was still in front.
         We walked through the first room – the living-room.  The television was not on, but a newspaper was laid out on the sofa in a having-been-read fashion, obviously waiting to be picked up again.  A pair of shoes sat in front of the stationary bike, which was next to the sofa.  Still, there was no sign of Will.
         The next room was the master bedroom; I knew this because Will’s unit was the carbon-copy lay-out of my own.  I also knew that there was a bathroom inside this bedroom, which also appeared to be illuminated.  Suddenly, visions of our neighbor lying lifeless in his bed filled my mind.  I took a deep breath to ready myself for what I knew I was about to see.
         “Are you okay?” my husband quietly asked me.  “You don’t have to go in there.”  He was still behind me.
         “No; I’m more ready for this than you are.  I’d rather it be me finding him than you or anybody else out there.”  I knew I’d be okay.  After all, I’d worked in a surgery center for nearly one year; bodies didn’t bother me.
         I slowly peeked around the corner through the open doorway and into the room.  It was not the bedroom light that was on; it was only the bathroom.  The glow shone on the empty drawn bed.  Will was not in it; it did appear, however, that he was getting ready to go to sleep.  Seeing this I felt somewhat relieved; I began to think that he was not home.
         To this day, I am still haunted by what I found next.
         I started to walk into the bedroom to examine the surroundings more closely.  I don’t remember the colors on the wall; I don’t recall the design of the sheets on the bed.  I do in fact remember that it was cold – very cold.  Most of my memory of Will’s house was erased when I saw his body lying face down where the carpet of his bedroom floor met the tile of his bathroom floor.  His blue robe was on, as were his matching blue slippers and pajamas.  His right knee was slightly cocked in almost a crawling position.  His sleeper pants were somewhat raised on his right leg due to the way he was laying.  This revealed to me pale, bluish-purple flesh – the color you see only on the deceased.
         That was all I could take.  I gasped, pushed my husband aside, and ran out of the unit, past my neighbors waiting outside.  I couldn’t believe what I had seen.  My body was shaking uncontrollably.  Everybody knew what had happened.
         “What did you find?!” his girlfriend cried.  “Please, tell me what you found!”
         I looked at her and started crying as well.  Her tears came down harder and faster as she fell into my arms.  I hugged her for a long time.  “I’m sorry, honey; he’s not with us any longer.”
         Tim had since come out of the house.  He didn’t dare look to see what I saw.  He came over to us and tried to comfort us both.  I was getting better; she was still in hysterics.
         Still, no police had arrived.  I went back to my home and called them again.  This time I told the operator, who was the same woman as twice before, what I had discovered.  It was almost immediately after that they finally arrived.  I was furious; it wasn’t until I found my neighbor dead that they decided to show up.
         There were many divisions there, including forensics.  For nearly an hour we were all questioned, especially me.  For much of that time, though, I was sitting on the chilly, damp-drenched grass, still trying to gather my thoughts yet erase the images that were in my head.  Tim checked on me every now and then, but he knew that I needed some time alone.
         We were soon informed that Will had apparently passed away sometime on Saturday, possibly in the evening.  Unfortunately they could not tell us how he died until an autopsy was performed.
         We did not file back into our homes until sometime around one o’clock in the morning.  I did not fall asleep until much, much later.  I was petrified of Will, who kept showing up every time I closed my eyes.  Each time he was crying, reaching for me to help him.  Each time he ended up giving in to Death, knowing nobody could save him.  I constantly woke up, hoping it was all a nightmare.
         However, when I was getting ready for my first college class the next morning, I knew it had, without a doubt, all been very real.