The Lost Soul: Storms of Life

“He seems like such a lost soul,” said Annette, the registered nurse in charge of the medical floor.

Warren, a baby boomer who seldom spoke to anyone radiated sadness, but responded politely when addressed by others who were growing increasingly concerned about him.

“One of the other volunteers told me he’s a drifter,” replied Marcia, a teenager helping with the dinner trays. “He never seems to have visitors.”

“He may be depressed,” commented Annette. “When you finish with the dinner trays, perhaps you could talk to him.” 

“He might be a loner,” Marcia thought, wondering if he would be approachable.

“No thanks,” Warren said firmly, but kindly, when Marcia invited him to play cards with her, a little while later.

“It might help to talk,” suggested Marcia. “I can listen.”

These three words touched the man in such a way that his life story was unleashed.

“My life wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, after a moment of silence. “I am still trying to make sense of it.”

Marcia decided to stay silent and just listen to him.

“I had everything going for me, a beautiful, loving and caring wife, three wonderful children and a home we had built together in a community that was thriving,” Warren said sadly. “I had a fantastic job and everything I ever wanted. Maybe my life was too perfect, too good to be true?”

Marcia could see by his expression that he was hurting.

“I watched a huge tornado wipe out everyone and everything in our town,” Warren said tearfully. “I was the only survivor. I lost everything, including my wife and children, my home, my job and everything I owned.”   

“No wonder he’s depressed,” thought Marcia, reaching across the table to put her hand on his. “Loss is not easy to deal with.”

“I have been wandering around the country ever since then, but I am a diabetic and have to get my insulin regulated, now and then. I became a storm chaser, as no one else should have to go through storms of life like this.”