My wife and I were at home getting ready for Christmas Eve about seven years ago. It was cold in the Leeburn valley late that afternoon and the snow hung heavy on the trees that surrounded our place.

A knock came at the door. The sun had already set. We hadn't heard a car come up the driveway, and it was very unusual for someone to walk to our place from anywhere, particularly in cold weather. A man we had never met before stood in our doorway. He was hardly able to express himself. We brought him in, and it became obvious that he was incoherent not just from overexposure to the elements. He was befuddled mentally. It took me about an hour to understand from him what his particular needs were and we gladly took care of them.

Before we went anywhere, we fed him a steaming bowl of soup and a thick sandwich.

I got to know him a little after that. We drove him to his home. I found he was a neighbour (as country neighbours go). He lived by himself just a few miles from my house. His possessions were few, and his only source of heat was a wood stove.

He had just been released from a Southern Ontario hospital for the treatment of more than one mental illness. He had prescription on top of prescription. To compound the problem terribly, he was also a defeated alcoholic. He had tried but failed to stay on the wagon and his place was littered with empty bottles of broken promises.

A few days after New Year's Day, it dawned on me that I should look in on Frank. There had been a cold snap and a lot of snow had fallen. His car was in a state of disrepair and he may have been in need of groceries. I drove down to his place, and as I approached his driveway, a sense of foreboding came over me.

The back end of his car was buried in the snow bank. Apparently the snowplough operator had passed by without noticing anything wrong. The passenger side car door was open. As I parked my car and got out, I saw him. He was seated on the other side of the snow bank where he couldn't be seen from the road. He was quite dead.

There were signs that he had tried to shovel his way out and didn't make it. We determined later that his stovepipe had come apart in the house, and he couldn't or didn't get things back together again. We found unlit newspaper in his woodstove. He couldn't get warm, and was forced out to try to get help. He shovelled some, but the snow bank was far too high. He was partially undressed. His boots were both off. The police later informed me that a person who freezes to death will feel an illusionary sensation as if overheated, and will sometimes strip off their clothes.

My point of the story is this. Our health institutions may be releasing their patients too prematurely. We need to be more vigilant for our fellow man, particularly those who are challenged with mental illness and do not perceive reality sufficiently to survive safely. As a society, we cannot just be fiscally responsible. We must be socially responsible. But that social responsibility needs to originate with me, the individual.

Without question, releasing a man to live by himself in the dead of winter with several mental problems and alcoholism to boot, warming himself with nothing but sticks of wood was irresponsible on the part of the institution. Did anyone from the institution think to check up on this man's living conditions? Even more tragic was that this man had no family around him. A 'disposable' human being; one who wouldn't be missed and who wouldn't cost the system any more money.

But like us, Frank was made in the image of God. He deserved the same care and consideration that we all expect for our loved ones. He didn't get it.

It has been seven years now and counting. I wish there was a way of letting him know that this writer hasn't forgotten. And I am sorry I didn't come to visit earlier. Things might have been different.

Because of you Frank, I am always a little more careful now, when someone calls for help. I won't let this happen again, as long as it is within my power to make a difference.