Friend Waldir I Still See That Having The Opportunity To Serve You Is A Privilege
I have, inside the yahoo servers, a kind of First Chest, where things are stored that I sometimes think of deleting. But cowardice, and blessed cowardice, make me not confirm the "deletion."
I delete it.
You would delete!
It's incredible, Microsoft's Word recognized these two "verb" times!
That goes from the margin to "N" Ilações and I leave it to some other unoccupied write, and not me.
Serve is a privilege
I insist: Serving Waldir was a privilege!
Somehow, this Blog is the Result of that Experience!
Anyway, I never confirm, and I should, because there are devils that if they could get wings and leave, they would have the power to make my private hell a Public Hell and none of Antonio's will do it ...
Well, I found this text and I'm pasting it in this wrod document with the original name, Waldir, who was the guy who taught me, without a word, the humility needed to understand that serving is a privilege!
And that the word Samurai is something that makes a lot of sense when translated and I dare say that, yes, maybe the sepukko was valid in the times when I wanted to practice sepukko.
Today…. Today I love and am loved! AND Mara, and their existence sustain any despair or dismay. To love is to show living, yes, teacher, you were right and, I know, I will not be unfair, I saw ...
Well, I'm going to paste the text as it was originally written, as it is, but I'm going to mend the typos, because I had, in that hurry to post, because posting was living and I had, at that time, a devastating hunger for lifeI had, at that time, a devastating hunger for life and for living!
And On account Of This Hunger For Serving I've Just Discovered That, Yes: Serving Is A Privilege!
And, true, now I see, she had no interest in going on, and everything was clearly established! Yes, in the "verbal contract" we chose as the basis for our "relationship"!
It is ... I remember that a person who, in a moment of illusion deceived me and in a moment of benevolent cruelty (if it had not been done as it was done, I would have killed myself in a short time and would not have found the happiness where I had been pre- determined that I would find her) but you, teacher, hurt me, made me cry and killed many things in me!
But I said before, in another time and in another circumstance, that seeing my struggle for life made it impossible for people not to fall in love with me.
Yeah, this person was right. But among so many people in love with me there was my madness, it was so much the will to live that I went crazy and I lost, again, in the pile of physical pleasure to which I almost gave myself completely!
And if He trusts you, your obligation, to Him, if you trust in Him, it is to trust yourself, too, in His day!
But let's go to Waldir's story
When the first squall went by, and the point of this on the timeline is the date on which I decided to look for my former manager, Elisabete Castro, who almost made me pay for her birthday party at SKY / Perepepês because I announced the anniversary and said that, for fun, there would be a performance of "Francisco Petronio and Great Orchestra", which made her fuck life with me.
Francisco Petronio, thank God, was not found and I escaped from this.
I had come out of SKY in a thunderous way, I was in love with a girl named Marina and on a Saturday I forgot to start the dance and I was doing "ambient music" for myself and the Marina. And, of course, they came to the sound booth to remove it and I, impetuous as I was, left the house in the middle of the Saturday, which goes of capital letter to aggravate the "crime" ...
Damn Be That Time When I Bring Friends By Human Garbage Damn Blind
Well, I assure you there have been other storms, and I have a myriad of them to tell you!
Well, the union with Marina lasted for three years and it was not worth, in my view, to abandon my position in a place where I was loved and respected and, frankly speaking, I think I was an idiot!
I thought so already in the year 2000 and today, in possession of all the informative material that I have, maybe I ate a feijoada for six people just to go to her and vomit all over her, that did not deserve the gesture.
This left me in doubt about whether to seek it or not .... but I had no choice.
The choice was to stay on the street ... unacceptable, I would die ...
I, who knew I could enter the house, despite everything, asked to be knocked on the door.
She came and led me inside. She looked at me and it was obvious, after a time in a coma and having lost 40 Kg it is notorious that something had happened and that I was not well, and she offered me a snack and while the snack was prepared I tried to tell her the that had happened to me.
And even knowing that she had always been more than a manager and a true friend, I felt ashamed of my HIV status and the sad condition I was in.
The DJ! What made hundreds, or even more than two thousand thousands of people, had fallen, defeated, in the nets of their own mistakes and I knew lucidly, clearly and painfully of that, that the cause was my lack of timing.
It was a good time for questions:
Where are best of sampa?
Where the DJ of the Wagon Plaza? Maybe that dancer would ask ....
Where did he who left Kanecão, from Mogi das Cruzes, in the middle of the ball because he was the one?
Other questions would fit, many of them ...
Where are the lovers?
Where the lovers?
At where? At where? At where?…
And in me, I feared that it would be always like this as described in the codification, the somber moment of another helpless one who, once, also fell ...
It gave me such paranoia that I believed that anyone who looked at me on the street could see that I "had AIDS" and that at any moment someone would shout, pointing at me:
HE HAS AIDS! GET AWAY FROM HIM, GOD'S WRATH FELL ON HIM! ... THE AIDTICAL DAMN
Anyway, after I cried a little, I opened it with her, I told her what had happened and that, like everyone else, I had been, not only abandoned by "all my friends", but I had nowhere to go and that I did not know what to do and that, as in so many other times in my life, I began to lack moral strength (for all to know, I was once again approaching gradually, gradually and inexorably from the streaks of madness and of suicide ...).
She apologized and gave me a call.
Five, maybe ten minutes later, I want to emphasize that after the diagnosis, time is understood by me in a different way and what, for you, looks like eleven o'clock presents itself to me as a dragged, sticky and dilated thing of , maybe, decades ....
But, coming back, after the phone call she came up to me and asked if I could make it to 5 until Major Diogo Street. It was almost a mile and I said I could try!
She told me that she had gotten a place for me to live in, this place is Brenda Lee's Support House, which I was told was closed, I believe, a little over a year ago.
It was a place where "compassion" prevailed, because of the administration of the house that had, among all, a deeper look at things, which made it very special and sensitive and it was she who, using her intellectual resources and her ginga As a social worker, I managed to get the owner of an optics to turn on a pair of glasses because my vision deteriorated.
The support house offered six meals a day, washed laundry, cable TV! ...
It was a great place for anyone who was determined to stay, as Raul Seixas rightly set there, with his mouth open, wide open, full of teeth, waiting for death to arrive!
But not for me, even though there was no treatment and no hope, I did not want to be among madmen, having to sleep like a dog, with an ear always attentive, for there was always a risk of "something happening."
And I learned it on the second or third day I was there and they forgot to bring lunch to a person who could no longer walk. And I went, I do not know why I went, until, until the diagnosis, I was not capable of any kindness, except when it came to "conquering a girl", to forget her the day after "My Victory! ".
This was already an effect of HIV, which showed me all people the "Orloff Effect":
I'm you tomorrow.
On this day I saw something. When the transvestite who was the cook of the house, a black transsexual, with the marks of time and AIDS handed me the dish and another transvestite asked me who the dish would be.
I should have said it was for me, but damn I said the name of the person who was going to ingest that food and I saw the transvestite, active tuberculosis carrier spit phlegm on the person's food, and said,
I'll kill you if I fall asleep! I took the plate and the servi ... (God forgive me).
She was a classic example of what happened in that House of Support, and I do not know if she lives and if she does not live, I really wish she was in Hell. According to the first infectologist who came to me, Support House Brenda Lee was a "focus" of TB, and so he came with TB treatment and this distressed me even more. And it was for this same reason that I was prescribed chemoprophylaxis for him who prescribed me the treatment of TB and also, as it was, I no longer know, that he prescribed me an antibiotic, in my day it was Bactrim 500mg per day, in a routine drug called chemoprophylaxis, which consists of taking, to say, in the body a "chemically hostile" environment and preventing certain infections or affections (a disturbance of the functions of an organ, psyche or organism as a whole that is associated with specific signs and symptoms).
The AZT I refused to take, because in theory it would give two more years of survival, in a desperate dose of six tablets every four hours, this implied two sleep interruptions every night and six sessions of daily vomiting ...
Then there was the golden opportunity (I re-read this, in 2018 I'm scared with this expression!) I was still mad when I wrote this and did not even notice it, and so much, now I see, gave in what gave ...).
A new patient had reached the supportive, extremely debilitating home he needed to be taken to the hospital every day, and he needed to be accompanied. They came to me and said (it was the social worker, Rosa Maria):
You that I clearly see not being happy here, can take this opportunity ... and explained to me what had to be done.
And I said yes.
After all, it was an opportunity to be useful and a chance to leave, to see the world, people, clear my thoughts.
It was a relatively simple routine: in the morning I would give him a bath, clean his scabs (I had to learn a lot about human fragility and recognize that it might be me in his place someday ...), he would do the dressings as the nurse taught me and sent him, step after step, to the ambulance, known as "papa todo", an irony without limits ...
Arriving at the hospital, he would put him in a wheelchair and take him to the third floor, where he was placed on a bed and received intravenous medication. It was there, like that, all day long.
I did not know what he had, but it was a terrible thing, for he barely supported himself on his legs.
Need support to go to the bathroom, to eat, to everything .... Even a glass of water he could not handle. Even so, I found time to get to know the other patients on that floor and, as far as possible, I made friendships, knowing those people, their stories, making them my family.
I even gained the trust of the doctors and nurses who came to see me as a helper, someone else to collaborate with. I do not know, here in 2018, how could they take such a risk with a layman, so crazy ...
He sought a wheelchair, pushing stretchers, did everything he could to help.
I brought water for a patient, alerted nurses to the serum that had run out, the vein that had been lost, learned a lot about the routine of a hospital, and owed it to each of the people I had the privilege to serve.
In the meantime, the Waldir was getting worse every day. But I do not remember seeing or hearing a single complaint, a single tear of pain, nothing. A nameless dignity, a courage, to me, completely unknown.
After so much work with Waldir, I got a weekend as a gift.
I was able to review some people I still love (today, at 2081, I do not know), making a commitment to come back on Monday.
I confess it was a relief.
I was tired of seeing pain, suffering, anguish, and feeling helpless. It was a weekend when I should have relaxed.
But I could not. He thought of Waldir all the time.
Are they feeding him?
Did they bathe him?
Is he well taken care of?
Does he think I've abandoned him?
It was a sea of questions and, on Monday, collapsed at the home support, looking for him.
A cynical smile coming from another patient and the notification:
"Waldir is on the last. We've even shared their stuff. Here is like that…".
I fired into the hospital, fourth floor, I practically came in by force. I wanted to see him, say a few words, give him a hug, apologize for some mistake he had made ... a handshake, anything that could seal our friendship at the time of his departure
The picture I saw was terrifying, and I immediately understood why they tried to stop me from seeing it.
Waldir no longer recognized anything, could not see me.
She looked around her, seeing other people, other things ...
Within the new context that was approaching him, I meant nothing ... I would have been for the rest, I felt and condemned myself in a summary rite of abandonment:
I left the room in silence, eyes wet, heart hardened, hurt myself and life.
I hoped to elevate him to a better level, where he could enjoy the gift of life more and more. I thought my "slack" had killed him. He was sure of it there, in that dismal moment ...
I sat in the waiting room and waited for the notification. It was over 19 hours before it was over, and he could finally rest.
I called the support house administration that asked me to take care of the funeral.
I had never dealt with death so closely. Papers, documents, certificates, autopsies.
Miliary tuberculosis (disseminated throughout the body), as explained to me. That killed Waldir.
After three days, his body was released, in a cardboard casket, painted black, as fragile as his own life, from those cheap ones, and we, the driver, Waldir and myself, went to Vila Formosa, where he would be left.
I remember that the look on his face was serene, for I saw him well, before closing the coffin ...
There was no one to help me carry the coffin to the grave.
The driver refused. Same, the same as the gravediggers ...
After much begging, I got three people attending another funeral to assist me in this, which was my last service to Waldir.
I could not, because I did not have a penny, to plant a flower in that tomb, which I do not even know where it is ... The Cemetery of Vila Formosa is the biggest of the did not know how to write, how to register, as nothing. Until then I was a virgin to death ...
I remember still having stayed at the support house for a few days.
I went to a hospital in Glicerio and the social worker there told me that I could not put up a place to stay because I already had somewhere to stay.
I thanked. And it was a Friday. He was determined and knew what he was going to do. That Friday I left the support house.
I even tried one thing, a tacit motion of distress, asking loved ones to keep my things with them.
Ipo Facto, they kept them ...
On Monday she, the social worker at the hospital in Glicério found me sleeping on paper and asked me what had happened.
I said, "What does it matter? Now I have nowhere to stay and you not only can, but have a duty to get me a place in another support house. "
In another support house, which is subject to another chapter, I remember having dreamed of something.
I, I believe, was in a field, a wretched forest to lose sight of and a Great Silence.
In the dream, I was not afraid, I was pacified, so inexplicably for my temperament of those days ....
It was clear day, the sun warmed me and I saw a black man (Waldir was black), and I looked at him, knew that that feature was known to me and I spent a lot of time looking at him without recognizing him, wondering who it would be that person so strange and so familiar (I reread this before republishing it, here, in the former Chácara do Encosto, on a February day, at the end of the 20 decade of the XXI century I still can, I do not know if on the screen of the memory or if on the retina screen, see it !!!!
Until he smiled and said,
-Claudio, it's me, Waldir! We brought you here so you know it was not your fault my ticket. I'm fine ========= (ocolto by me) a white, completely unknown (I do not know if I'm white) that helped me in the most difficult hours and days.
Know that I am well and, believe me, you will never again be in helplessness, because there will always be one of us close to you. That said, he smiled, made a sign of even more, turned around and left, running, at an immense speed and I felt what I think a lot of people felt at least once in their life:
"Being brought back at even frightening speed and I woke up crying ... how I cry now, as I write this ... AND I CRY AGAIN HERE, in the 21st Century ...
Whenever I get sick, I think of him and wonder if it would have been my turn already, and although for a long time I had always concluded that yes, God came ... and I said no.
Until when? ... I wondered.
I stopped thinking about this for a long time
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And it was not within a "comfort zone"! This is a story that only I have to tell!
I was the first individual, a CPF, not a CNPJ to, in quotes, “Slap my face”!
For all that I lived, it all happened in a period still troubled by prejudice and, yes, there were prices to be paid.
The currency has always been that of social exclusion and I have even hesitated between continuing or not!
The great “IT” of all this is that without this work, I would have nothing left but leisure and I would certainly not endure it. I have a need to be productive.
We are Borg!
If not bored by the empty hours, at least by suicide due to the absolute lack of purpose that my life would have and the terrible impression of parasitosis that would come to affect me. So, I couldn't stop.
I had the opportunity to accomplish many things and, on the other hand, I missed several opportunities to do more, with a deeper and better reach.
Not everything is as desired. Let it rain (Guilherme Arantes)!
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