The Death Of The Rain Essay
One of the earliest memories that I have as a child is of my grandmother, who was a devout Catholic. One day when we were walking out of Church on a gloomy Sunday morning she said “God is in the rain, Jonathan. God brings life to all of the creatures and plants on Earth, and it is one miracle that he allows us to touch and feel to be a part of.”
It was raining on a cold, raw, late winter night in Connecticut when I walked to the homeless shelter in Bristol. I had been homeless for several months after being turned out by my family for coming out to them in late 2000 (the further backstory on this . I was approached by two men who appeared to be in the same dire straits as I, and they asked me to lend them some money. I could tell from the metallic tanginess of their breath that both were inebriated, and I told them that I couldn’t help them and continued to walk to the entrance which was about 200 meters away. They became angry at my inability to help them and pushed me into a light post, which I stumbled back from, dazed. They stated that if I didn’t give them any money, they would make me regret it, to which I replied that I didn’t have any cash, and that I would call the police if they didn’t back off. The last thing I remember is turning around to face the shelter when I was struck on the head and was engulfed in blackness.
I would later find out that the men, after hitting me on the head with some sort of object (I never…