My first encounter with Traumatic Brain Injury

I was at a local grocery store checking out, and was laughing with the girl behind the register as she talked about going to Dallas for some Sci Fi convention or something. Periodically, she would lean over to her left, and put her hand on the bagger's hand and gently say, "Alan, Alan... put that in a separate bag."

Inevitably, my attention shifted to Alan as he seemed to be having great difficulty. On one overfull bag, he kept trying to put more and more in the top until she stopped him. At another point, he was just staring blankly at some broccoli unsure of what to do with it. She was so gentle with him it was touching.

Now, it's not uncommon in Houston for the local grocery stores to hire the mentally disabled, and I applaud them for that, but there was something different about this guy. It wasn't like he was slow, it was like he'd been through a lobotomy or shock treatment.

It was then I noticed the military tattoo on his forearm. As I walked out to the car, I remembered months, maybe a year ago at the same store, the happy little posterboard with red, white and blue ribbons with a big smiling picture right in the middle wishing National Guardsman _____ good luck as he was deploying to Iraq.

I don't know if that was the same guy I saw today, but I'm pretty sure it was.

I cried all the way home.