Miles, my trusty hound, and I had just rounded the corner of Orange and Willoughby when we saw this elderly gentleman using the ramp on the back of his car to get his mechanical wheel chair onto the curb. He was all alone, and as I walked by, I remember thinking, "Should I offer to help?" My instincts told me that this was not the kind of man who would accept help - and could very well be pissed off by my inclination that he needed it. So, we continued passed him. After maybe 30 steps, I heard a crash and a very loud and frantic call for help - he had fallen! I ran back to him feeling terribly guilty that I hadn't at least asked to help, tied Miles to the fence, and asked him if he had a cell phone on him, so that I could call an ambulance. He was lying on his side, between the car tire and the curb. Despite my fears, he seemed fine, but he continued yelling for help.
He very roughly handed me his cell phone that had been clipped to his belt, saying at the same time that he did not need an ambulance - he just needed help getting back up. So, I sat his phone back down on the curb and offered my hands to help pull him up. He took one look at me, continued yelling for help, and spat, "You can't help me - you're not strong enough. I'm at least 200 lbs..." Feeling foolish and inadequate I said, "My husband is gone for the day and I just moved here and don't know anyone in the neighborhood to ask. What do you want me to do?" Finally, he told me which house to ring. I asked for his name - which he hesitantly gave - because I wasn't going to ring some stranger's doorbell and say, "There's a grouchy old man outside on the curb who needs your help."
The woman who came to help was smaller than I am, she was wearing scrubs and rubber gloves, and she spoke with slightly Russian-accented English. I asked her if there was anything I could do to help, and she told me no, that she would take it from there. She ran back inside to grab more help, and as I untied Miles and walked away, I muttered the most pathetic words to have ever passed my lips: I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I saw him today on his motorized chair while I was driving home. He looked miserable and pale, but he was clearly 'fine'. I really hope that I never reach a point that I would scoff at the kindness of strangers.
I know I shouldn't expect gratitude, and I think this might be what bothers me most - not that he didn't thank me for doing what his paid attendants should have been doing in the first place but that I was so hurt that he didn't even acknowledge that I could have kept walking. That even if I couldn't have helped him up (I'm certain that I could have or I wouldn't have offered) I made sure he didn't lay there without help for long. I ran back because I wanted to help - not because I wanted his thanks for helping. I guess ingratitude is better than living with myself after hearing a call for help and not responding.