May he rest in peace

I'm upset. And when I'm upset - I mean really upset - I make a beeline toward the end of the couch that's nearest the corner with my mini, green journal. After resting it on my thighs, which I've pulled up to eye-level by putting my feet on the couch, words bleed out of whatever pen or marker that I grab onto its pages.

Since it's full of my private, sometimes contradictory and chaotic thoughts, no one reads that journal. It's to help me work out whatever issue or problem I'm having at the moment or just an outlet for me to take out my frustrations.

I found a dead person today.

Under these circumstances, normally I'd be headed for the couch to write. Anyone who knows me well knows that I get as skittish as a young colt around death. I suffer from what I characterize as small panic attacks when I have to be around it, like when I'm at funerals.

You'd think that three years as a reporter - when it was my job to write about death at times - would have given me the tools to be more comfortable around it. Even though I've seen more death as a reporter, and have had to deal with it in my own way, I have never really gotten over that day in March, 2005, when I attended the funeral of a 5-year-old boy who had been hit by a car that failed to stop for a school bus. There was also the story of the 11-year-old who had been hit by a train, the 7-year-old and his father who drowned in Lake Erie, and the twin 4-year-old girls whose drugged-out father drove into the path of a semi. (For some reason, the big stories about death in my coverage area usually involved children.)

I thought I had left that all behind when I moved to New York. But death happens anywhere. Even in the lobby of a coffee shop.

I'm writing about the experience here, and not in my green journal, because this really isn't a private matter. A man died in the middle of the hustle and bustle of people grabbing their morning coffees and heading off to work.

And the worst part? No one noticed. FOR TWO HOURS.

It wasn't until I was sent to clean up the lobby area that I started talking to a customer and she pointed the guy out and asked that I make sure he was OK. In New York, it's not unusual for the homeless to quietly step into coffee shops to warm up and even nod off. They're usually really nice and sometimes, they use some of the coins they were given from passersby for a small cup of coffee. As long as they're not bothering anyone, I won't kick them out for not buying anything.

Today, however, this guy made me really uncomfortable. He was a black man who looked like he might be in his mid-50s. But it was hard to tell because he was sitting on a chair, his feet were on the floor, and his body was bent over so his head rested between his knees like he was feeling faint and needed to take a breather.

Since the assistant manager woke him up earlier in the day to tell him not to sleep in the store, we obviously assumed he again had fallen asleep, even though he recently bought a cup of coffee.

But as I was eyeing him while wiping off the tables, it seemed eerie that he remained so still, even though people were constantly jostling past him to get milk and sugar for their coffees on the side of the store that has just a few seats available for customers.

So I scooted up a bit closer to him to really get a good look at him in his dark blue jeans, over-sized navy blue jacket, and well-worn black backpack and failed to see the tiny movement a body makes as its lungs expand with air.

On the way to talk to the assistant manager, I started feeling unnaturally hot in my black turtleneck. Since the guy ignored the assistant manager's earlier order not to sleep in the store, the assistant manager went out to the lobby intending on waking him up and asking him to leave.

Though he banged his open palm on the table several times while shouting the word "sir," the guy didn't respond. Police were called, then they called EMS before he was pronounced dead. Just like that.

I was seriously feeling queasy by that point, so I asked if I could run an errand or something so I wouldn't have to see them take the body away and was, thankfully, sent to the bank to get some change.

The ambulance was just pulling away when I got back and all that was left was to give my information for a report. Then I was supposed to return to work like nothing ever happened.

The next time I looked over in that area, a beautiful, healthy college student wearing blue jeans and black personality glasses was sitting right where the guy's life left him. She was laughing as she swung her blonde hair from one side to the other as she attempted to help her friend with their economics assignment.

There it was. Life and death right there in front of me in black and white.

She's doing great.

May he rest in peace.