Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?

Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

~~Elvis

[Source: Google Search]

Thanksgiving Day, 2023. New York City.

I volunteer to deliver meals to home-bound and health-compromised people on the Upper West Side. This is not about me, though. Normally I don’t say much about this, but without my sharing it with you, dear readers, I would have no context for my narrative.

I go to people’s apartments with the food. They open their door, sometimes wide and sometimes only a crack to take the bags. The rooms are warm, often cluttered, sometimes crowded, but usually empty. The old faces look at me with anticipation, never fear. They smile, they want to talk but they know you have to continue on to others.

A caregiver or a son or daughter wants the client to meet me, wave to me. I wave back. But the people who are alone are the ones who get the most attention from me. I want to make sure they hear my words. See me try to smile. Hear my holiday greeting.

[The bags of Thanksgiving dinners. Photo is mine]

There are many difficult things in life that must be endured. A painful ankle can be mitigated. A headache? Take a Tylenol. A sore neck requires a message or a blop of Ben-Gay (or something that really works). Lower back pain needs a great deal of care, but a good stretch or hot soak with Lavender Epsom Salts may take a bit off the edge.

But being alone is a dark place to dwell. I’m not speaking of a 30-something person who seeks quiet to escape the madness of life in this world. I’m talking the 66-year-old widow. The 75-year-old widower. The divorcee, the illegal immigrant, the homeless, the frightened, the mentally ill, the afflicted and the disenfranchised.

These are the people I cry for.

I was a teenager walking along a street in my hometown. 1964? Seems about right. I was heading for the Cookie Jar, the teen hangout. Cherry Phosphate, Ice cream and coke, french fries and the juke box…for a nickle. I passed the house of one of my classmates. There was a party. Music. Laughing and talking.

I wasn’t invited. But the sight took the wind out of my sails. Who would be at the Jar to talk to me? A few people sat in the booths. I didn’t really know them well. I left.

But I had a home to return to. A family and a warm bed. I was lucky. And I was young.

These days I seem to see the lonely people everywhere.

Ah, look at all the lonely people

Where do they all belong?

~~Lennon/McCartney. Eleanor Rigby

A pill won’t relieve loneliness. The hopeless feeling of knowing you have few or no friends is one of the real truths of life for many people.

But, it’s New York City, you may say. There’s 8.4 million people living here. How can one be alone? It’s not easy and it’s not hard. But one can be impossibly lonely in a massive crowd.

Call someone. Write to someone. Listen to someone.

Help another person to be less alone.

[Photo source: Google Search]

Have a warm Thanksgiving…