“Ich ban müde”
He said time and time again.
At first, I didn't understand what he meant.
I do not speak German.
Sipping coffee that I served him.
In broken English, telling me life stories.

He requested me out of all the other employees.
Every Thursday he came into the little coffee shop.
If it wasn't working he didn't bother to stop.
I'm not sure if he just liked how I made his order correctly.
Or maybe he was lonely.

A multigrain bagel, not toasted with plain cream cheese
And a small hot decaf black with an ice cube.
I glanced at him as the coffee brewed.
Sitting in the far corner of the room.
Always alone, no one to talk to.
I sat with him and listened to his words of wisdom.

In his country, the elderly were praised
But here people only took interest if they were given a raise.
No one would listen to his story
Because they found it to be boring.
Or they didn't have the time to hear his thoughts
Time is money and money was calling the shots.

He grew up in Germany and moved to America when he was younger.
I never asked why he moved here, and I still wonder.
He spoke highly of his wife, of fifty years.
A combat nurse and a seamstress were her careers.
What I could decipher from his thick accent.
“Ich ban müde,” he said again.
I didn't have time to ask before he left.

The next week, I noticed a decline in his temperament.
He appeared to be plagued and distant.
Explaining that his sons were a doctor and a lawyer.
Connections between them were severed.
He refused to speak to them calling them “Coddeled,
Adults and still nursing from a bottle”

His wife developed dementia months ago and had fallen.
From his life, she was stolen.
Their sons decided that she needed to be placed.
He was ashamed.
Thinking their father was the one to blame.

There was no one at fault for her condition.
He took pride and stood by her clinging
to their memories.
She was the woman of his dreams.
It pained him to give her up,
to a place that he viewed as corrupt.
A holding slot for those ready to die.
He didn't see that in her eyes.
There were still glimpses of the past,
Memories that would last.
He still saw her as a strong women
Even when her mind was unwoven.
In a wheelchair, their sons wheeled her away.
Her face was expressionless that day.
A tear came to his eye,
But he refused to cry.
He wanted to care for her himself but he could not keep up with her needs.
Their sons ignored his pleas…

“Ich ban müde.” he mumbled under his breath.
I finally asked him what that meant.
Looking me over, hesitant.
Being at the end of his rope.
Giving up hope.
No longer abide,
And swallow his pride.
“I am tired,” he confessed

But his words didn't match what he expressed.
As if it were not from the sleepless nights
Or even the fights.
I got the impression,
From his discretion.
Suffering of the mind,
Peace he was unable to find.
Anguish he was trying to hide,
But it could no longer be confined.
He didn't share his life with anyone but his wife.
Losing her was losing the secrecy, sacrificed.

Thoughtfully picked me out of the crowd.
I am not even sure if he had browsed.
Why did he choose me out of the millions?
To voice his inhibitions?
Was it because I took the time to listen?
Just to tell me all that he knew?
Or did he notice that Ich ban müde too?

© A. Tenney