Another Bridge Too Far

I enjoy a cup of hot coffee on my way to work on brisk winter mornings. That's why I make time to stop at Tad's diner.
Paula, who runs the place, makes the best coffee in town and we've been friends for years. 

The diner sits below a bridge and along a bike path. There's a deck out back that leads to some boat docks.
When I was between jobs, Paula let me use one of the back tables as a makeshift office.
I just couldn't stay cooped up inside the house all day. I get cabin fever.

I'd sit there with my laptop and a pack of cigarettes, drinking from her bottomless cup of coffee and shooting numerous job applications into the proverbial black hole. 

Every so often, I would step out onto the deck to light one up. Smoking in public buildings has been banned for years, but it still irritates the hell out me. 

But, that's where I met Billy. 
He was a smoker, too. 

It was late November, the trees had lost their leaves, and the docks had been recently pulled from the water.
They were stacked like cord wood along the cement platform that ran along the shoreline.

Billy always seemed to be hanging out near the docks, which were only a stone's throw from the bridge and the adjoining bike path. Now that the docks had been removed, he stuck close to the bridge.

He looked much older than his years, appearing a bit shaggy and unshaven, but he was always upbeat.
He was a professional at bumming cigarettes and a light, but I didn't mind. 
I could tell he was down on his luck and probably had been for sometime.

Over the next few weeks, I continued to run into him. I began to look forward to it.
He never wanted to come inside, so I'd bring him out a cup of coffee.
My cigarettes were always at the ready.

He said he didn't want to be a bother. He respected Paula and didn't want to discourage diners from visiting her establishment. It really didn't matter. Most of them were regulars, anyway.

He slowly warmed up to me, but he never talked about anything of real substance and I didn't pry.
We all have our crosses to bear and, besides, I only stayed outside long enough for a quick smoke.

I strolled out onto the deck one blustery morning, fully expecting to see Billy, but he wasn't around.
I walked over to the railing that overlooked the river and, as I glanced over, I could see him.

He was sitting with his back against a pillar that supported the bridge. He was staring blindly at the slow-flowing river. Winter was definitely upon us and he was using the bridge to shield himself from its chilling effects.

I shouted in his direction and he turned his head, peering out from underneath the wool cap that nearly covered his eyes.

I watched him slowly rise, struggling to get his stiffened limbs to respond.

He made his way up to the deck, where I met him with a steaming hot cup of coffee and the promise of a cigarette.
He was shivering from the cold. He had a winter jacket, but it was tattered and torn from basically living in it.

"Are you okay," I asked. "How long have you been there?"
"Not long," he responded. "I just needed some fresh air. It's colder than I expected. I guess winter's here."

I agreed.
I was beginning to shiver myself.

We didn't talk long. The cold was nipping at my ears and I had to get to the office early for a meeting.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Billy," I said, as I headed toward my car. "Take care."

I awoke the next morning to find a blanket of snow covering my lawn.
The wind was swirling and the temperature had dropped to below freezing.

I immediately thought of Billy, hoping I wouldn't find him under the bridge.
I couldn't imagine anyone spending the night outside. He must have spent the night in the local shelter.

I arrived at Tad's, grabbed two cups of coffee, and headed out onto the deck.

At first, I was glad I didn't see him. But then I became worried.
Where was he? Was he okay?

I walked over to the railing, leaned over, and glanced toward the bridge.
If he was there, I should be able to see him.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

He was leaning against the nearest pillar, half covered in snow.
I shouted, "Billy!" But, there was no response.

I ran toward the bridge, carefully trying to maintain my balance, my boots kicking up little clouds of snow.

It was Billy. His lifeless body leaning against that pillar.
I was too late. I'm no doctor, but I knew he was gone.

As I was bent over his snow-covered body, I noticed something in his hand.
I felt compelled to softly pry it loose from his nearly frozen grasp.
It was a photograph, and it was in remarkable condition.
He must have taken great care of it.

 I could see why. The date written on the back was 1991.

I'd seen similar images before, when I was at the newspaper, working on the news desk.
For me, it seemed like a lifetime ago. For Billy, it was exactly that.

As the '80s turned into the '90's, the news services were sending out image after image of Operation Desert Shield, followed by Desert Storm. The war to dislodge Saddam Hussein from Iraq had begun in earnest.

Billy was in the photograph, standing upon a rock amidst a small group of his buddies somewhere in the desert.
He was holding an American flag. He looked to be no older than 19, which would put him at about 45 when he died.

That's too young for anybody, let alone a young man who'd volunteered to serve his country in a time of need. 
Who knows what circumstances led him to that bridge and his untimely demise?

There are, perhaps, as many reasons as there are Billys. 

He'd survived a war fought in the sands of the Middle East, only to die alone, half covered in snow under a bridge in the Midwest.

I felt ashamed.

I'd let it happen.

I should have done something.

He deserved better.

Yes, this is a fictional story, but it's not far from the truth. 
Homeless veterans die on our streets, in our alleys, and under our bridges everyday.
In fact, many of them are taking their own lives. They not only need to know that there's help out there, they need us to guide them toward that help.
We can't continue to look the other way. We must reach out and act in their behalf. 
There are a lot of Billys out there. Help one today.

The links below provide an array of resources aimed at helping veterans in crisis.
Don't hesitate to contact them.
They're all ready and willing to assist you or someone you know. 

https://www.bebee.com/producer/@randy-keho/veterans-in-crisis-don-t-let-them-give-up-the-fight

http://www.vietnow.com/

https://www.bebee.com/bee/leckey-harrison

https://www.bebee.com/bee/margaret-aranda

https://www.bebee.com/group/veterans-to-honor

I was compelled to write this fictional account after reading about a recent funeral service held for a homeless Vietnam-era veteran. The county coroner, who was having difficulty locating the deceased veteran's family, called upon area veterans to attend. Hundreds responded, providing an American flag for the casket and serving as pallbearers.