Mutuality in my friendships
There is a mutuality in my friendships with folx experiencing houselessness. One day last week I was having an especially hard time, and the first thing I realized I needed was hugs from my friends T and D. I needed THEM (not the other way around). That's how it goes when you love people. That's how it goes with friends. It actually doesn't matter where they live or what they're wearing or that all of their worldly possessions are in shopping carts, or really anything else. Love is love. And of course they were there for me, with hugs and laughs and love.
Tonight, my friend who lives in a van came over with spaghetti and meatballs and cooked for me and the boys. He also brought us turkey meat for school lunches and some cinnamon rolls. He knows I've been having a hard time and he is always thinking of ways to help. Him making us dinner took the load off my shoulders and meant so much to us. We all sat down together. The pasta was AWESOME. Perfectly cooked. I didn't know he had worked in Italian restaurants back in the day.
Once in awhile I bring my formerly houseless friend F shopping. No matter what mood we are in, I always cherish our time together because it is REAL. She is authentic. And if I ever needed her, she would be on a bus over here to help me. No questions asked. She's got my back.
About 4 years ago I came home and my boys were missing. My girl and I were freaking out. I had just called 911 when my friend M called me. I told him what was happening and he said, "I'm by the Burnside bridge but I'm coming to you now!" The man was an amputee in a wheelchair, racing over to find my boys.
I share these stories not because they make me special (I'm just a flawed human like the rest of ya'll), but because I want to break down the artificial barriers between the housed and the unhoused and share with all of you the enormous gifts that are possible in being open to connections with people you might otherwise never consider befriending. I want you to really see how special and remarkable so many people are that you might just walk by and never give a second thought to.
I have a vision for a few gatherings this summer to bring the housed and people experiencing houselessness together with art and music. If you think you might be interested, stay tuned!
Peace out beloveds.
Officer M.S., meet Bluto
I wrote this a few weeks ago but forgot to hit the publish button. I’m not as good at technology as I want to be, but with enough patience, it all works out.
Last Friday I was on a panel hosted by OHSU medical students to talk about the barriers that exist between houseless folks and the medical world. Somebody asked what I would do if I had unlimited dollars to 'solve this problem'. I rambled for a while about ending capitalism and how we need to move beyond seeing humans as either deserving or underserving...It wasn't a great answer, but then this happened and I can't stop thinking about it:
8:30 on Tuesday my phone rings. I kind of recognize the number but it's not in my phone. Usually I would ignore, but I followed the impulse and picked up.
"John, this is officer M.S., we talked a while ago at the community house. You still in the Sunnyside neighborhood? You still helping folks on the street?"
Yes.
He continued, "I have a problem I wonder if you can help with. You were the best i could think to call. There's a guy you might know who was sleeping at 34th and Belmont. He is too cold. Do you have or know anything to keep him warm?"
"I do. I can get there in a minute. Anything else to know while I gather stuff?"
"Guy named J, you probably would recognize him...he got so cold this morning that he lit a fire on the sidewalk and fell asleep again. His blanket lit on fire and I just happened by and saw smoldering and pulled over."
I threw a few items in the bike and rode down there. As I arrived a fire truck was pulling away and Officer MJ was crouched down talking to a shivering man. A small pile of wet ashes lay on the ground. Another neighbor pulled over her car and was running across the street with two more blankets she had waiting in her vehicle to offer.
I immediately recognized Bluto! A man I've known for a long time... He is, like the rest of us, a complicated person full of the entire range of emotions and experiences. The last time I saw him he asked me to call his son to tell him that he was still alive. He was worried that his son might not want to hear directly from him, but he wanted to say I love you. He smiled broadly, "Yo John! Why's this cop got your number? Just kidding, thanks for the blanket."
Officer straightened up, let me take care of Bluto for a couple minutes then said, "He is so cold today. Clearly he doesn't need to go to jail for anything and the paramedics made sure he wasn't burnt. I'm going to work now to see about getting him in some sort of shelter inside as soon as possible. Is it okay if I put your number down, John? If my team has updates and can't find him, can we call you?"
Yep. What are the odds of getting him inside?
"It's the most heartbreaking and hardest...but I'm going to bat for him as much as I can. There's not enough housing that works for enough people. Thanks for helping me this morning."
I thanked officer for calling me instead of taking him to jail. I thanked him for knowing his name. I thanked him for stopping with concern for Bluto's safety instead of for the value of the property that was being burnt.
All of that sits like an example of the question asked at the panel. We certainly need more dollars and more housing and more help. We certainly need to shift dollars from police budgets to people whose job it is to look out for safety and community health.
But what we really need is to be able to work together, rather than as adversaries. We can hold the truth that things need to change AND that we can use what we have differently than we do. We seem to have a crisis of imagination running right alongside the humanitarian and health crises.
If the police see a sleeping body as one to harass into movement or as a body to arrest into jail, nobody wins. If citizens in houses see a body coughing from under a blanket and are too afraid to offer a bottle of water, we all lose. If houseless folks are so defensive from years of persecution and abuse that they yell at a neighbor who is otherwise trying to offer help, walls get built. When we watch each other as suspects to be wary of rather than people to smile at, I think we become a little less human. Or rather, we become a version of human that is farther from the reality that I want.
A Dialogue on the Stoop
A dialogue I just had with my buddy, J.J. follows.
J.J. is in his mid forties, has been homeless for a long time and lives from the proceeds of collecting cans. Tonight he stopped by to tell me he'd found $135 worth of cans....but he can't cash them in until tomorrow. He was psyched. I am dubious because I know a hundred and thirty five things could happen to either he or his cans between now and when he gets to cash them in.
Anyhow...Our conversation turned to the recent "cleanup" of the camp at Laurelhurst. THere's so much to say and I have nothing to say.
“There all moving back to Laurelhurst. You know?”
Yep. I tried to tell the city people of how useless it was...
“This guy moved down next to me down there behind the empty lot...Before that everybody’s been cool to me. Leave me alone.”
Good. That’s good. Is alone the best way to be?
“When you are living like me, you don’t want no drama with nobody and the best way to have no drama is to be left alone.”
I get it.
“But this dude today moved down in between me and Carl. He put up one of those covers, you know? Like a pop up and starts setting up his whole damn house. Not 30 minutes later a dude comes out and says, ‘you got to get out of here.’ and starts yelling some nasty shit for a while. I told this dude...’It’s cause you bring your whole damn house down here when you ain’t got a house. If you live on a parking strip, you live with a parking strip worth of stuff.”
That sounds tough.
“C’mon, John, it ain't tougher to get rid of your extra shit than to have all of the shit kicked out of you.”
I don’t doubt that.
“Anyway, this dude said, ‘I’m just going to cry...everywhere I go I just get told I can’t be there. I just got to lay down and figure it out.’ So...he’s going back to Laurelhurst because it’s the best he’s known.”
And that’s the cycle right?
“It’s like the city knows exactly what’s going to happen aint it? They just shake the sheets to see what bugs will fall off and the rest of us have to scatter, find a corner, and fight to be left the fuck alone. Pardon my language, John. I know you got kids.”
It’s cool. They know how I feel about all this.
“If I'm so dirty, but there's no bed for me, why can’t I just have two nights in a hotel when they got to clean the camp I live in?”
Makes sense to me...
“We all just looking for a place to be left alone.”
September 15th is One Year
It’s September 15. It happens e very year. Comes right after September 14 and right before September 16. You can’t stop it from happening. You can’t wish it away. You can’t stop the clock. It’s an ordinary day for most people. Not a holiday. It probably is somebody’s birthday, but not mine.
Grief has taught me that there are days in our lives that have a more profound impact on our lives than others for one reason or another. It could be a day that makes everything you thought was true becomes a lie or you question if what just happened really happened.
Since June, 2019 I knew September 15 was going to be a special day for me. June of last year was when we were told by the Methodist Annual Conference that September 15 ,2019 would end our time in the building where we had been doing our ministry for those living on the street and were marginalized. It was a ministry that spanned almost 40 years.
Sunnyside United Methodist Church was a big old run down church that I had grown to love and made a great effort to breathe new life into it after the congregation closed its doors September 2015. Sunnyside was a place that I knew I could always find God present in the walls, in the people who came to serve, in the people who came needing to be served. Sunnyside was a container for much of my practice as I struggled to understand the teachings of Jesus. Sunnyside was the place where I began kissing the lepers of our time.
But change was happening. Neighbors complained about our street friends. They didn’t like the mess that frequented the outside of the church. They didn’t like the drugs that were being used in our vicinity. Neither did we.
A church congregation, not yet Methodists, called the Groves had been given rights by the United Methodist Conference to make decisions about the future of the property. They had plans to make it into a gathering place for neighbors living in houses. We had that same desire. We had welcomed many of our housed neighbors in for birthday parties, memorial services, political meetings, book readings, and basketball games to name a few. But we also had a large following of poor amongst us looking for refuge. We thought we were going to work together to continue the good work of the church. But it didn’t turn out that way.
I know gentrification doesn’t mix well with needy folks swimming in their own pool of unhealthy behaviors and misfortune . Many people in our city have been displaced from the places they called home only to be moved to an unfamiliar environment that didn’t smell or look like their childhood memories.
Our peeps were not welcome at Sunnyside any longer but they didn’t have a place to go starting September 16 of last year. All they knew was that the church and some of the neighbors didn’t want them here. They would still be hungry. They would still be tired. They would still need a shower. They would still need someone to reach out a hand to them and welcome them into a place filled with love. We, “the Hard Times Supper” as we were formerly known, became homeless like those we served.
The church and neighbors thought if our program left, our peeps would go away too. Not true. People living on the street live in little communities. They know which homes are safe and helpful. They know who they can depend on. They know the best outside sleeping accommodations when it rains or snows. These street folks weren’t going anywhere and they laughed at the thought of leaving. Why leave? There is no place that they would move to that would welcome them. So they stayed. And we stayed with them—but outside. They used to come to us, now we came to them. They used to tell us what their lives were like. Now we got to see their lives up close.
I was pretty sure we wouldn’t be on the street for long. We had found a church that was willing to sell its building to us so we were hopeful and quickly began making plans to make the move. We thought we had much of the needed finances to pull this transaction off. I admit it was hard for me to wrestle with the fact that a ministry that had very little overhead was now going to need almost $2,000,000 to continue. What we knew was the work wasn’t done and we weren’t done doing the work. So I got over my pride and accepted this new cost of discipleship.
After months of positive negotiations the pastor of our soon to be new home pulled out of the deal saying he changed his mind and didn’t want to sell after all. That was pretty hard to swallow. But maybe there was something better in store for us.
By now it was raining and the temperature was in the 30’s. It was not much fun being out there serving hot food and conversation. But we prevailed. I can remember saying I cannot be out here on the street another winter. This is too much to bear!
Another opportunity came along—better and more expensive than the last. But it helped us to dream big and bring in other potential partners. We planned to create a village where our peeps could find all the services they needed to make their next step to a better life in one location. But the lesson we were going to learn here was that something that seems too good to be true is usually too good to be true.
So here we are September 15, 2020. We’re still on the street. Our lives continue to be enriched by these lepers turned Jesus in our eyes. I can’t imagine them not in my life. I have had to learn to change my words from “I can’t be on the street another winter” to “I can be on the street if I have to. If that’s what my friends have to endure, I can too.”
When I pull up at the park at 1:00 PM every day they are there waiting to help me. They always ask how I am doing and mean it. They can tell when something is troubling me. When I forget the sugar for their coffee, they remain kind and don’t berate me. I know their flaws and they know mine. I’m at peace with life as it is now. It’s all good. Even the hard stuff.
Sometimes I Don’t Like Them Because …
Because …
They don’t take my advice.
They lie to me.
They don’t say thank you.
They sabotage their future.
They whine.
They don’t clean up after themselves.
They have an excuse for everything.
They don’t care who’s president.
They make poor choices.
They spent their stimulus check on drugs and alcohol.
They steal from each other.
They aren’t where they say I can find them.
They don’t give a damn.
They waste my time.
They scream terrible things at each other.
They think it’s alright to hurt someone because they were hurt.
They won’t ask for help.
But most of time I love them in spite of all these things …
Because they deserve to be loved.
Because I can be just like them.
Because they remind me of my own children.
Because they’ve taught me to go deeper.
Because they’ve taught me to be still and listen.
Because.
Our Neighbors
As tents take hold of Portland’s sidewalks many appear to be more like homes than camps. When you look inside some of these tents you see rocking chairs, and overstuffed lounge chairs. Some have tables and sideboards, double beds. everything you’ve left out on the sidewalk for taking. One has a huge teddy bear sitting in a very large outdoor camp chair. A little kitchen area may be seen in some with canned goods and other non perishables neatly lined up ready to be used for a next meal. A door mat welcomes you in.
Many of the sites are neat. Others not so much. I wonder if we took a look back to when some of our homeless were teenagers we could predict forward who would be messy and who would be tidy just by seeing how they behaved as teenagers behind closed doors. We have walls to hide our clutter, they don’t. One of my friends when he goes dumpster diving ends up with toy parts. I can imagine him as a child putting together model airplanes with his brothers. I suspect this brings him some comfort.
Many of the women still don’t like to leave their tent without first putting on their makeup. And I watch the way they walk when they’ve put on something that they know they look good in. That desire to be noticed doesn’t just go away because you are living on the street.
At lunch sometimes when we run out and somebody comes late, we see somebody offer their sack lunch to another, “how long has it been since you ate? Here have mine.” Gratitude for the offering comes in the form of a song or a knowing bow, or simply, “Thank you brother. Thank you.”
I fall in love with my friends more every day. I see how they look out for each other and make sure they all have enough to eat. They know who has trouble asking for help so will do the asking for them. They know better than the housed folks how to care for and/or talk to someone who is having a mental health crisis. They are family to each other..for better or for worse. They are also a forgiving bunch. Sometimes it seems that they may be doing community better than us. We are all learning all the time what it means to be in this life together.
It Started With a Death
Paul has been showing up at the park most days, sometimes to eat, sometimes to help us serve. He shows a heart of gold to all interested in taking the time to listen. Paul shared this piece of writing today as a reflection on Leroy, Pat, and our ongoing work of loving each other as much as we can. Thank you Paul.
I didn’t know the man first hand in life, but I did see him in all of his glorious peace, on his deathbed. Peace which I felt fortunate to witness, Peace where struggle and pain have been put to sleep, Peace that is powerful, healing, and vital.
It was kindness from friends that inspired the chain of events that led to these circumstances. The peace was so strong and apparent, it opened my eyes. It was as if I had been sleeping since the last dead person I saw. I felt revitalized and fresh. I felt a new life stirring within me from the beauty of this man's journey, and the love and care of his friends, the way they devoted themselves to serving him in his last days, and how despite death, I could see the joy and peace in the mans face, like an echo of goodness that transcends time. I was moved. Moved to be grateful for friends. Moved to be reverent towards life. Moved to not only respect, but reaffirm my own mortality.
I had made a connection where there was an empty link. I saw, in the quiet beautiful absurdness, something not only natural but necessary, a personal relationship with elders and the dying. The end of the cycle. The beautiful glory that you were promised in life, that inspires the living to live.
The tragedy is fertile ground for good. When a loved one passes, when an invisible virus threatens the world, when a mountain erupts and the earth shakes, the landscape is tilled and ready for new planting. The preparation of our hearts, our bodies, our city, the greater landscape, hurts, but as new ground is tilled and ready for planting, we accept the pain as an essential part of the process. We can preserve the good that has gone with sentimentality, and get ready for the good that is coming with open spaces in our hearts and minds.
The simple act of treating ourselves and others with dignity has great results. I know this from experience. I would not be here without your belief, your kindness, and your willingness. You cast your light out into the darkness and I saw it and moved towards it. You helped me greatly. My strength is your strength. Together we can do this. Thank you.
Leroy Sly Scott
Leroy died early this morning. His ending was quick in relative terms. Much different than his long life spent mostly on the streets of Seattle and Portland. He was 63. Leroy almost died once before, but a friend told the hospital staff Leroy wanted to live and they should do everything possible to save his life. They did. Leroy said he never forgave his friend for saying that.
But this time there was nothing that could be done to keep him alive. Cancer that was only diagnosed two and ½ weeks ago had already given him a death sentence of a few days to 2 weeks.
Leroy was clear he did not want to remain in the hospital. He had two choices.1) a nursing home where he knew no one or 2) the Peace House where I live with 12 others.
He had two requests. He wanted to have friends around him. And he didn’t want to be in pain. We were able to grant him those wishes at the Peace House.
I knew him well. I knew what he liked and what might set him off. And yes, there was a time last year when I had to ask him to leave Sunnyside Community House for a day because of his behavior.
Team Leroy … John, Meg, Caleb and me were his chosen companions. Each of us had been present in Leroy’s life at significant times. We all knew and loved Leroy and were prepared to love him to death.
The hospital staff graciously gave him meds to make it a soft ambulance ride to his final destination. When he landed in the soft double bed on the second floor of our home he smiled and said “at last.”
So we sat, watched old sit coms. Told Leroy stories. Got to know each other better and listened to Leroy breathe. Occasionally he would yell out for Mommy when the pain gripped him.
And yes. He did mention in the hospital that he was looking forward to his favorite drink…Steel Reserve. We granted that wish too. We dipped a sponge into the beer and wet his mouth with that cold familiar liquid. A smile came across his face as he licked his lips and sucked the sponge. One dip… that’s all he needed to cement the memory of that’old friend’ that kept him company as he held court on the stoop.
The last hour of his life we listened to songs sung by Frank Sinatra. We could imagine Leroy crooning with Meg, her in the apartment window above his seat on 34th and him positioned directly below. As he gave birth to his soul, the song “It was a very good year” was playing. There was breath. And then there was silence.
The four of us bathed and dressed him as we honored the body that held this incredible man. And then we got out the champagne, sparkling cider and Steel Reserve and toasted our friend, Leroy. We ended our little ceremony by tying Remembering Hearts to his wrists as a reminder that a piece of our hearts go with him and we have an ongoing connection to Leroy. No surprise that in the background we could hear Frank Sinatra singing “I Did it My Way.”
Leroy used to sit on the stoop at 34th and Belmont across from Stumptown. Now there is a shrine there holding his memory.
It’s a beautiful day for flying. And tonight the moon will be full. I wonder if I’ll see him dancing.
Serving in the Time of Quarantine
Edit: I wrote this post last week and thought I lost it when my computer went kaput. Today, my computer is fixed and I was able to find it. Small miracles…so, a little is now past-tense but the point is very much in the present.
Love,
John
I haven’t written in a while because most of my work has been happening from behind a computer screen. The stories somehow lack importance when they come to me second hand. You see 3 weeks ago I came down with a fever and a cough and a upset stomach…You know, the flu, right? Or was it? I was advised by doctors to assume I had Covid19 and follow the guidelines for checking in and checking symptoms. This meant a time of isolation and being as homebound as possible. The latest advice was to wait a full week after the symptoms ended…that was ten days ago.
Today I joined the ‘front line’. Today I am so grateful for my friends who have been doing this all along. Today I did my best to add what I could. Pat and Sandy and others have been out serving our friends every. single. day. since the world changed. And while most of the world shut down, the need for food on the street has gone up three fold. We are now easily disbursing 60 lunches every day. Until a few days ago, Sandy and Pat had been largely doing this by themselves. Every. Single. Day.
This week we started asking others to help us and the response has been amazing. We distributed a list of how to make a sack lunch and invited folks who can to make some number and we will come pick it up and distribute them. Today, 5 neighbors offered their time and love and ingredients to make over 70 lunches bagged lunches! A sixth neighbor made a complete Thanksgiving dinner and boxed up turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and stuffing in 60 boxes that we picked up right as we began serving. 6 families of all ages
In one hour coffee, hot chocolate, all of the turkey, and most of the sack lunches had gone into hands of people full of gratitude. It was fast paced and happy. People were kind, even, and really really happy to have a warm meal and another one to walk away with. It was so so good for me to be with so many friends I haven’t seen in weeks, even for a moment. It was so so good to hand people food and meet people’s eyes.
But it did not feel good to have to do this. It did not feel good to have a mask and gloves and not be able to hug anybody. It did not feel good to have to encourage people to keep moving and keep away from each other. And it did not feel good to have to load up the truck with garbage bags that had nowhere else to go. It did not feel good to know that we have had to police and the health department authorities called on our work to feed people during this emergency.
Nonetheless, when friends need help, we all step up. You do that with your friends and family too. I invite you to think from your quarantine if there is anything you can offer to those who have less that still feels safe for you and yours. NOBODY should feel compelled to venture towards infection. NOBODY should do more than they can. But I will argue that doing what good you can for others helps all of us feel less alone. Ideas:
—Connect a hose to your a publicly accessible spigot, invite homeless folks to fill their jugs there…drinking water is hard to come by
—Make a few lunches and tell me about it…I’ll pick them up from you and give them to people with your love.
—Collect jeans, pants, sweatshirts from your closets and give them to us to give out.
—Call somebody you know is a little lonely today.
—Donate dollars www.paypal.me/beaconpdx
—Give us your yogurt containers with matching lids.
I promise, it’ll feel good, even amidst all the stuff that feels wrong and rough and hard.
Walking Four Blocks in Your Shoes
Yesterday started with a text from Sandy: “No! J didn’t get his carts to your house, they’re at the Avalon, any chance you can get them over to your house? We have to get to Hooper.”
Of course I could. I cheered J on. Checking in for detox is a big deal and being ready and willing to take that step is massive. Today is a day to make sure J has no obstacles in his way. I cheered Sandy on, who was waking extra early to drive into town, find and rouse J, and drive him to Hooper in time to make use of the referral into treatment. That’s a big deal and worthy of a story all it’s own. But my story is of the carts…
I am a relatively fit and healthy 38 year old man. I can move easily, all of my limbs work, I have no disabilities, and I have muscles enough to lift heavy loads. I also ate breakfast, had coffee, and sturdy warm gloves on. And yet, at 845, after getting the kids to school, I found myself standing next to two massively loaded shopping carts, well packed and covered in tarps. I decided to take the bigger one first.
It moved easily down Belmont and I knew it would be easy enough to get home. My mind began to wander, ‘could I ever shrink my possessions to fit on a shopping cart or two?’ ‘I wonder why that lady crossed the street in front of me’ ‘why won’t that guy make eye contact with me?’ As I walked the block to 34th and turned right, I realized I was being seen differently than I was used to. People saw the cart before me and I could feel it. Alas, I had to get the cart the other three blocks to my home. On the first curb-cut, I realized I was lucky that there was one. There is no way I could have lifted it down…but those little yellow bumps made it awkward and hard. I decided to walk it in the street rather than contest with pedestrians and curbs. The first car that came behind me was not full of patience. He honked at me, I moved to the other side of the street, he sped off shaking his head. I felt genuinely ashamed. I didn’t mean to make his day harder…I’m just trying to help a friend.
The next car that came was facing me. She slowed way down and moved over for me. I felt seen and safe and I waved. She put her head down and kept going. There is the slightest uphill from Belmont to Washington. So slight you can barely notice on a bike, but I could feel ever ounce of incline all the way up. By the time I neared Washington, I was sweating through my layers, though it was freezing outside and was out of breath. I changed positions of how I was pushing it and in that little adjustment—-catastrophe.
I felt a wheel go sideways, the cart started tipping, it was too much to brace against and it fell on its side with a loud crash. Dammit! I’m one block away with a well packed, but over packed shopping cart in the street on its side. I looked around. A neighbor who I don’t know was walking his dog. I read his body language as saying, ‘should i help this guy? ignore him? turn the other direction?’ I looked down at the cart (which had not spilled a single item, despite laying on its side) and back at the neighbor. I must have looked desperate but approachable. He offered help. “Oh thank you so much. I’m helping a friend and just need to get this to my house down there.” I could feel the dynamic shift immediately. Now we are two middle income residents helping. I was so grateful he was there. It took both of us all we had to hoist it back on its wheels. I freed the stuck one and continued home.
By the time I walked in the door—only four blocks from where I started—I was exhausted. Out of breath and sweaty, I needed a glass of water. My wife, slightly worried, asked what had happened. “Oh nothing. Just pushed J’s cart 4 blocks. It’s the hardest physical activity I’ve done in a long time.”
I know the saying is ‘walk a mile in another’s shoes’ but I only needed those four blocks to understand so much of J’s experience. I can never know his entire experience, but knowing the physical strength it takes to move his items means that every move needs to be thought out, planned. You have to know where the ramps and hills and curb-cuts are and aren’t. You have to start moving well before you want to be somewhere and you better not be planning on going far. You need calories because they will burn quickly. You need water to stave off dehydration. You need gloves when its cold out otherwise your hands will freeze to the cart.
I also felt the power of the gaze. I was walking in my own neighborhood, where I own a home and feel so safe and comfortable but I knew that people were not seeing me that way. They were reading me as a nusience or worthy of pity or an invisible source of noise…I quickly felt the same. I felt in the way, cold, tired, in need of help and ashamed. So a four block walk in empathy did me good yesterday morning. I’ve been feeling it in every interaction I’ve had since, where I feel committed to reaching my hand out and offering my name to others. I want to create a world where J and his friends feel just as welcomed and safe in this neighborhood as I do when I’m not pushing a cart. I think we have work to do; and I know we are up for it.
Tuesday
Sometimes so much happens in a day it’s hard to remember it all by the end of the day…Some days are easier than others. This was Tuesday:
My day: Tuesday
8:35, out the door on bike, both kids.
8:40, drop Big at school
8:45, drop Little at day care, some tears. Ride home
9:00, in car, call L about upcoming colonoscopy,
9:30, tutor first grader in deep east Portland...All the classroom window shades are pulled and I wonder if it’s to keep the distraction of snow at bay. That makes sense and makes me sad. Later find out it’s because somebody smashed some windows with rocks over the weekend. That makes me sadder. I only meet with one kid today; the other two aren’t at school. Time to catch up with old friend/colleague. Hear about broken school window. Hear about illness. Hear about kid’s bad big brother while brainstorming ‘b’s. Kid leaves session asking if he can read now. He is smiling proudly. I am happy. But it’s complicated.
1030, talk to Pat while driving, hear about pregnancy and infant loss grief group last night, “they are so brave to embrace all of the story. They are amazing people. You are amazing people.”
10:35, meet Annaliese and D from Rahab’s sisters. Talk of sad stories and grief. Talk of successes that sound small; we know otherwise. Talk of shared goals and imagine how to get there. Heard of police harassment. Heard of suicide in the winter. Heard of gratitude for the simple act of being a special place. We know why we do this, even if words don’t do the reasons justice. It was nice to give and get a hug as we left... appreciative.
12:00, W is having van towed. Doesn’t need support but can’t meet up as planned. We set up time for tomorrow. “I don’t care where we are. I’m just so thankful to be able to catch up with you and talk.” W’s brother died this winter. Mine did 12 years ago. We should talk. W just got into housing. Wes has been on the street for a while. W is dyslexic and super creative. I gave W a laptop a few months ago. W just started a business of t-shrit design, printing, tye-dying. W is proud and should be. We’ll meet up tomorrow.
1:00, load truck with blankets, hand warmers, socks, underwear, tarps. Drive to park where Sandy has unloaded stew and donuts and coffee and hot cocoa. All of what we have today goes to others. People are cold. It was snowing earlier and we look for what shelters are open. We hand our phones around for calls to shelters. There is lots of gratitude but in answer to “how’re you doing?” I heard, ‘making it’, ‘hanging on’, ‘can imagine being better’, ‘fucking cold’, ‘I’m great! I can move my fingers again!’ People are sad and willing to say so. People are appreciative but it’s like tragedy is the river and comedy are the floaties holding folks just barely above the water. It is good to be with people.
2:30, I am ready to leave. I am cold. J needs my phone. I hand it to him and talk to K. He asks why I keep coming to this corner. He asks why I put up with neighbors being mean. I ask him the same questions. We laugh. We come here for each other. He tells me, “You know I spend all day everyday hearing where I cannot be. Nobody ever tells me where I can be. One day; one day...I’d just love to wake up and hear somebody say, ‘Welcome. I’m glad you’re here. You’re in the right place.’” It hits extra hard as we walk in opposite directions and I cannot offer him that place.
3:00 pick up Big from school on bike. Play. Ignore phone calls. Pick up Little. It has started raining again. I hear that shelters are open. Everybody is already gone from the park. I tell the folks I can...
6:00, eating dinner with family and a knock on the door. I know. Big hops up and checks the window, “It’s J!” I open the door...”I’m so sorry for interrupting your dinner...but feel my hands.” J is cold. I take his hands and they are frozen solid. They are like ice bricks on the ends of his arms...”Can you dry my gloves?”
I take his dripping wet gardening gloves. I offer for him to come in. He shakes his head. “I’ll wait out here. Thank you John.” I start the dryer and bring him a plate of our dinner and some hand warmers. He asks for help opening three and hands me all of the trash. He sits on his skateboard on my porch and smiles. “You and your family are so nice.”
I want to offer far more. I wish I could change so much about the situation for J. I can’t. But this I can do. I can dry his gloves. I can offer him warm food. I can call him by name. I can give him a hug. So that is what I do. After twenty minutes, he asks for a lid to the rest of the food because he wants to share it. He puts his gloves back on and smiles even bigger than before and stands up. “You know why I like to come here sometimes? Because no matter how grumpy and bad I feel coming all the way up any of the streets, I feel...I feel peaceful when I get here.” I feel happy. He gives me a big wet hug and steps off the porch, “I’m so warm now. I got a hand warmer on each hand and foot and even one on my butt! Thank you, John.”
I close the door and we clean up dinner, carrying dishes from dining table to dishwasher. It all makes sense and none of it makes any sense. And here we are, in it together.
Keep Showing Up
In the three months since I've been heading out on Saturday mornings to bring breakfast to my un-housed friends in the neighborhood, I have never considered not showing up and instead just staying in bed. Until yesterday. It had been a tough week. A really tough week. And I hadn't slept well. I knew they would understand if I didn't show up, but then I thought about a few things. I thought about my friend Pat Schwiebert, who showed up every Wednesday night for 38 YEARS to feed neighbors at The Hard Times Supper and who continues to show up every single day in the hood even though she doesn't have a space to feed people right now. I thought about my un-housed friend, T, who recently said, "I show up at the park every week to see you. The food is great, but I show up to see your beautiful eyes and smile. I do love you." I thought about the fact that no matter how difficult my week was, it was nowhere near as difficult as the week they had living outside in the cold and the rain. So, I got up, lit a candle, put on some music, prepared the food, and snapped out of my funk. Sometimes we have to just DO what we need to do even if we don't feel like it, and wait for the good to come and our mood (or something) to shift.
First I ran into J, who wasn't with her usual crew but instead walking alone. She calls me "bad ass" and I LOVE that. No one has ever called me that before. I called to her and she said, "I was just talking to someone about bad assery!" and we both laughed. Next I drove to where my closest buds hang out. Someone close to my heart who I haven't seen in about 6 weeks was there. I was beyond excited to see him and my face lit up as I extended my arms and exclaimed, I am SO happy to see you!" He's shy. He put his head down but there was a sweet grin on his face. We hugged. I noticed that T wasn't there and asked where he was. "In the hospital", his little brother said.
I got the details and we called the hospital. The guys joked with him, told him they were bored without him. Sweet. I called my family and made sure they could survive without me for a bit so I could go to the hospital. I ran home and grabbed an extra stuffy that my son M was glad to pass on to T (T loves stuffies). I was relieved that T looked great for a sick guy. He really wasn't clear on what was going on though and of course the staff couldn't tell me. Fortunately the doc came in to examine him while I was there. I took notes so that I could share important info with the other BeaconPDX folks who look after the peeps on the streets. I knew there would be other people who could help. I put my name and number on the dry erase board in his room as a contact because his brother lives outside and doesn't have a phone.
He'll be ok. This time. But he won't be 100% well when he's discharged. He will go back and live outside in the middle of winter. He'll get sick again. Can you imagine being sick and not having a warm place to live? A cozy blanket, heat, a bed, a hot bath, soup, tea, Netflix, maybe a loved one caring for you or at least a friend or neighbor to stop by to see you? CAN YOU IMAGINE?
A few people who knew about yesterday said, "You're so nice." Yes, I am "nice", but this isn't about being nice. T is my FRIEND. Why wouldn't I show up for him just as I would show up for a housed friend or a family member who was sick? It isn't about being nice. It's about love and care and SHOWING UP AS BEST WE CAN, AS OFTEN AS WE CAN. Some days it's hard. I am grateful to my friends at BeaconPDX for modeling this for me and others, for my mother who taught me to always care for those less fortunate, for my family for understanding that this is my ministry and allowing me to step away from them to show up for others, for my son M who parted with one of his favorite stuffies, for my friends outside who call me "bad ass" and tell me how beautiful my eyes and smile are, and for the myriad of blessings I have been given that allow me to live in a warm house and a life surrounded by everyone and everything I need.
WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER. LET'S KEEP SHOWING UP.
A Couple of Days with Our Peeps
Just a listing of some efforts that have been made in the last 3 days—
Tuesday hot lunch by Pat
Wednesday hot lunch by Portland Assembly
Thursday sack lunch by mother and daughter team of volunteers
Friday sack lunch from another faithful volunteer
Commitment for ongoing Monday lunches from that same group of faithful volunteers
(Each of these lunches feeds 10-30 people depending on weather and who shows up and who is taking some back to a camp for others—but we have come to know that these meals are stopping people from stealing food when they are hungry)
Volunteers purchased and donated two cases of hand and toe warmers and handed them off
Distributed lots of sweaters, hoodies, dry socks, tarps, rain gear to individuals
Took 2 guys to get replacement IDs at the DMV (one hadn’t had one for 3 years but needed to cash a pay check, the other needed his ID to get his beloved dogs back from the shelter)
Got 1 friend to get said dogs
Got 1 friend started on referral process for shelter housing with Navigation Center
Visited friend at Blackburn center, checked on new friend on Hawthorne that one of our volunteers witnessed in need, checked on groups in 3 parks to say hi, give hugs, and offer support
Triangulating care for an aging houseless man and his dog…getting him support with TPI towards housing
Got food stamp benefits reestablished for 2 people
Participated in Girl Scout meeting with Q and A about our work
Leading cohort of 8th graders interested in action project around homelessness in Portland
Talked to lawyer and developer about next steps for our organization
received $424.30 in cash donations (just the last 5 days!) and lots of warm clothing donations
volunteers helping to organize donations at Peace House and SE Uplift for easy distribution
Helped get chronically homeless man on a bus to Arizona where he is seeking ongoing mental health supports from a doctor he trusts. His dream come true!
Got a few guys to Peace House for showers
Continue talking to a variety of churches and community leaders in hopes of finding space for a Winter Emergency Shelter for the coldest of nights.
There’s probably more that I don’t even know about or have let slip to the back of my mind…but with very little, we are doing lots! Join us once, twice, always—or tell me how you are supporting your neighbors in all of the quiet ways you do.
One thing leads to another …
Last winter the Sunnyside Environmental School Girl’s Scout troop (sorry I don’t know their badge number) led a sock drive to help our folks through the winter. The girls, mostly first graders, were pleased to send over a few boxes of nice warm socks that we happily distributed.
But then this year came…we are outside now. We are not where we once were and this upset a couple of the girls in the troupe. One asked the leaders how they could, “Help my friends that used to be by the fence at recess.”…those are our peeps. A month ago one of the leaders asked if we would still like a sock drive, even though we are outside. YES! Then the offered to do a bake-sale. Cool!
Last Tuesday the dozen or so 2nd graders held down a very popular table full of treats at the end of the school day. My daughter and I bought one for a dollar. It was delicious and my kiddo loved thinking about how her dollar would come back to me and I could use it to help one of my friends on the street. Cool!
Then, I was invited to this week’s meeting wherein we were gifted the proceeds. I might have thought about $50 coming our way…instead, i was given an envelope with 242 dollars and 30 cents…absolutely incredible. It was easy to feel the power these girls felt in handing over this contribution. I told them we treat every dollar like it's 5 so it’s really like giving us $1000. Their eyes grew wide as did all of our smiles.
We chatted and one asked how they could best help somebody living on the street…I rambled through an answer that started and ended with, ‘you can always ask somebody’s name. You can always wave hello. You can always be a friend.”
This morning, I was dropping off my child and the leader of the Girl Scouts stopped me. “I have to thank you because I learned something from you the other day.”
“Great. What was it? I wanted to thank you too!”
“Well there’s a guy who sells Street Roots by Walgreens. I see him most days and often wave or smile in his direction. But…I never thought to ask his name. So I did. Yesterday I introduced myself and when I asked his name, his whole body lit up. It’s like he stood straighter and his face was alive. ‘Jeff. My name is Jeff',’ he said to me. Now I know Jeff, my neighbor. And he could be my friend.”
I nodded a large nod. Goosebumps rose on my neck and arms. What she is saying to me is exactly my own experience. The first time I learned Leroy’s name was trans-formative for me and now here was somebody having a similar profound moment and telling me that I helped inspire it. “You could just see what it meant to have somebody want to know his name.”
Yes.
It strikes me often how one interaction usually leads to another one…you hand a person a cup of soup on one day and then find out they need a ride somewhere the next day. Here again is that happening but it’s as if the impact is rippling with an increased amplitude when I hear stories like this. You never know what can happen when you ask somebody their name, when you show your humanity, when you let your conscience lead…
Community looks like …
Our incredible Sandy is on a well-deserved vacation. She celebrates the longevity of her marriage, a stability and consistency anyone might want to strive for. Her absence asks the rest of us to step up and do a little more. I wanted to tell a couple striking stories from the last two days that have me thinking about the meaning of community again.
On Tuesday, Sandy’s usual day to serve at Sunnyside, Pat made pulled pork for sandwhiches and I picked up the deliciousness from her house, steaming hot and ready at 12:30. By 12:45, I was parked and started unloading the car, quickly J and B dive into help carry crates tot he picnic table. Smiles and greetings, all amazed that pulled pork is on offer today. About a dozen people come through, we have plenty to offer seconds, for some thirds…”Oh I’m so full!” “That was amazing!” “You mean I can have another?” “Unbelieveable” were just a few quotes ringing in the air as we scoop onto buns and tell jokes. We are thankful for the sun.
There were lots of touching moments around the picnic table, some collective problem solving, a few bad jokes, and more happiness than frustration. As we were about to pack up, our friend P pulled some leather women’s winter gloves out of his bag. They are worn but beautiful. He looks across the table to I; they are both regulars at Sunnyside for years, but I don’t otherwise observe them as ‘friends’. P says sweetly, “I was thinking about you when I saw these on the corner. Do you think they will fit? Will you try them on?”
I. stands stunned. I am too. “For me?” she asks.
“If they fit,” P replies. I pulls the left one on, then the right. I am standing between them and see it’s a perfect fit. “They fit like a glove,” P exclaims. We all laugh. I starts to cry a little and is so full of thanks. I told P how nice it was of him and he shyly looked outward and said, “yeah…I like to put a thing or two together when I can.”
How thoughtful. How wonderful. How quintessentially defining this is of community…looking out for one another without any sense of needing payback or recompense. Helping people because they are people. Everybody is capable of it and everybody deserves it.
Updates
Apologies for how long it’s taken to get another post up and out. It’s been a busy time and sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what to say when we experience so much…humanity.
Last week was a week of hope. Organizationally, we were contacted by a couple of supporters we didn’t know we had. These are doers, builders, developers in the city who are wanting to connect with us about our work…they want to be a part of a solution. They want to hear our stories and amplify them. These meetings were a salve against the difficult discussions we sometimes enter into. We don’t know where all of this will lead, but it gave us all great hope that we are not alone and that solutions for our future are possible. Certainly, we will keep you posted as we know more and more details.
In the meantime, we are asking every church and other large space if they will let us in for a warming shelter…it is cold outside! we haven’t gotten any yesses yet, but we’ve gotten a couple of maybes. We continue to serve and are growing our days of offering. Starting last week, we added Saturday afternoon at Sunnyside Park and this week we will have another volunteer making lunches for us Friday afternoon. Come join us.
Our peeps are continuing their journeys. One friend who Sandy helped into rehab is nearing his 50th day of sobriety and is dedicated to this change. 4 more have settled into the Navigation Center shelter and are happy for the roof and support. Another is pursuing his Social Security benefits after years of having nothing on the street; another older vet is reaching out to support services looking for housing in a way he has not been able to in recent years; another friend is recovering at the new Blackburn center from a broken leg and we are setting up visits and bring them food; another is working on getting himself a bus ticket to Arizona where he would feel better off; many many more have trecked north to the Peace House where we are offering what showers we can.
We continue to love, feed, support, and be friends with our neighbors, even as the rain comes and the light changes. We will be doing our best on the ground, in our neighborhood, and for our city.
If you have any warm weather or camping gear you are looking to donate, please be in touch and I’ll happily come to you; until we have a place to bring folks inside, we are handing out gear to make outside a little less dire…
Just a Note From a Volunteer
There are a growing number of people in the area who are taking it upon themselves to help our houseless neighbors. Relationships are growing, trust is too, and with this comes love…I find it inspirational to receive notes like this and can’t we all use some inspiration?
Friday night I went shopping for Sat. morning breakfast. I decided on sausage and cheese English muffin sandwich's and banana muffins for the grownups, peanut butter and jelly on bagels for the kids (plus some extra kid-friendly snacks). I made the muffins at night while my kids watched a movie and laid out everything else for an easy prep in the morning. I prepared the sandwiches and put everything into bags for easy delivery.
Only R was at Sewallcrest. We checked in and I gave him food. I hope E and kids slept inside last night. Sounds like they sometimes stay with someone named T? I'll keep the socks I have for E in the car in case I see them later. Driving toward Hawthorne I met a shy young man named C who hung his head down but looked at me long enough for me to fall in love with his gorgeous green eyes. Such a beautiful young man. Maybe plagued by mental illness or addiction? He seemed so vulnerable. Gave him and his buddy some food. Headed toward Safeway and found J. Shared two hugs! The bottle return there is inoperable because an employee took the key home a few days ago and no one can reach him. J said T and his brother D were at the Safeway parking lot so I headed down there. Saw Streetroots T and a guy named C outside of Safeway. Bought a paper, gave C .75 he asked for. He was happy the food I made was soft because his mouth is full of rotting teeth. Good for me to remember to always have soft foods on hand for breakfast. Found T and D and T said his legs hurt too much to walk all the way up to New Seasons bottle return. I had D pack up the returns and I went up there for them and then brought the $6.70 to them at Sewallcrest. They were just chilling out together. As I left I joked to R, "Hey young man! Keep these old guys in line!" and everyone laughed.
A Morning Song
This morning I was riding my bike north on 34th after having dropped the big kid for Kindergarten. Just south of Belmont I saw three friends and pulled over. R, a young man who’s had a long life already was waking up on the stairwell. He’d folded his body in half, presumably to sleep and was seperating the reusable cardboard from the soaked through cardboard. Standing next to the stoop with his back to the street was M, a middle aged man of small stature and big spirit. M had a guitar hanging from his shoulder and having conversation with R. As I pulled my bike up, I see Leroy. My man! Back from his apartment living to check on his friends at his old stoop. He quickly called me out.
“Hey Bubba! You still coming to breakfast at my house tomorrow, right?! You ain’t gonna cancel when I already got the food marinating.” We laughed and hugged and I assured him I couldn’t wait for breakfast tomorrow…at his house. Amazing to think that for decades this man has been sleeping on concrete outside. Tomorrow he is making me breakfast in the kitchen he’s had since July.
M, hearing the commotion, turns around, blinks, and smiles, “Hey it’s you! It’s you! The guy. The guy with all the good words to say. The guy from Sunnyside.” We hugged and I reminded him my name and he proudly showed me his guitar. “I finally got a guitar. You know I play but I never had one for so long.”
He told me about his mother who just passed and how lonely he’d been. “Without her and without music, I just don’t know what to do. But now I got music again.” I asked where he got it and to my surprise, my partner Sandy had found it and gotten it to him…”She knows that I was lonely without my music. She’s an angel full of grace, You know? Now this guitar is connected to me. It’s like it’s a part of me now.” I told him he should name it since it is so full of love. He paused, looked at the cement and in one voice M and Leroy looked up saying, “Sandy!” That’s it, M’s guitar is named Sandy! He started playing some Bob Dylan to me while passers by headed to work and bus stops and coffee shops. I felt lucky in that moment.
As he finished, he was crying again, the emotion of playing for an audience just a little too much good to hold in. Leroy was grinning from ear to ear with the sounds of music bouncing off the bricks and R was ready to rise.
We four shared a moment there full of laughter, tears, music, brotherhood, and hugs. It lasted 10 minutes. My day has been so much better because I stopped this morning. I’m so glad I stopped. I rode across Belmont as M wailed behind me, “Tell me, how does it feel” with full Dylanesque inflection. It feels good to have friends.
Birthday Party
Rice Krispie Treats & Shirley Temples
Happy birthday, W!, were the first words out of my mouth on Friday. I brought lunch to the park for the peeps (our houseless friends). W was sitting on the bench with his companion dog Halie. I usually do not serve at the park on Fridays, but October 11 was a special day. It was my friend W’s birthday and he was turning 60. I already knew that one of Walter’s favorite foods was Rice Krispy treats. I asked him earlier in the week what he would like to have for his birthday. He mentioned that he would like his favorite plus Shirley temples. Oh, and he prefaced his favorite treat with, “I want an entire brick to myself”, meaning he wasn’t going to share.
I wonder how many of our houseless friends have birthdays that come and go. Unnoticed because no one pays attention, no one remembers, or no one cares. Aren’t birthdays, and holidays supposed to be celebrated, remembered? My birthday was last month and although it wasn’t the best day for me because of an unfortunate situation, friends and family gave me cards. I received many texts, Facebook posts and phone calls wishing me happy birthday. I don’t think W has any family, and though I know he has friends, I wasn’t sure that any of them knew his birthday.
I have celebrated other peeps’ birthdays before, but this one would be the first without a space. I’m not sure why W’s meant so much to me, but I knew I wouldn’t disappoint him without a festivity attached to the day. Interacting with our peeps without a building now, has its challenges. For example, I must plan every fricking detail. If I’m going to provide the same services (food, clothing, toiletries, rides to appointments, etc.) that we did inside, now meeting peeps where they are, I need to be super organized, not to mention planning birthday surprises.
October 11 was a great day to celebrate a birthday in the park. The sun was in the sky, and it was even a tad warm for October as some of us shed our coats to let the sunshine beat down on our faces. W was excited because he knew that he was going to be gifted with treats and surprises. Me and the peeps gathered around the picnic table as I began to set the table with hot chocolate, snacks and lunch. First, out came the Rice Krispy treats. I must admit that I burnt the first set because if one keeps butter and the fluffy marshmallows cooking too long, well, the mixture turns dark brown. It still sets up after you add the Rice Krispies, but instead of getting that rich and gooey taste as you bite into it, a consistency much like a cement block hardens and you could break a tooth. The second batch turned out perfectly, if I don’t say so myself. As I brought out the good “brick” of treats, W scooped it out of my hands so quickly before I even realized what he was doing. He wasn’t sharing his treats and he was going to make sure no one else was going to have them as he tucked them into his plastic tote on his walker.
As everyone was diving into lunch, I began making Shirley Temples….ginger ale, grenadine and of course, maraschino cherries to top it off. I never did find out why W liked this particular drink so much, but the joke of the hour was, “Sandy, do you have any vodka to add”? Before we all moved out from the picnic table, someone yelled that we needed to sing happy birthday to W. What a sweet, calming rendition of the song sung by mostly men of varied ages, and a few high soprano women. We continued to laugh throughout the afternoon, and D pulled out his banjo and entertained us with his lively playing. P all the sudden brought out his trombone. Now that was a surprise. We all giggled over that amazement.
Birthdays come and go, but each one of us should always have the opportunity to have our birthday remembered by someone. The smile is priceless. The joy to know that you are so lucky to have someone born and have him cross your path means that I have another friend to enjoy ooey gooey treats and a refreshing beverage [maybe with a little vodka next time]!
A Gift of Love (in a Different Kind of Package)
I have learned about love from many special beings in my life: my parents, extended family, my children, friends, significant others, teachers and mentors. I have learned that I am loved by the Universe as a child of the stars and I have felt that awesome sense of universal love for all beings and for creation itself within my own heart while praying, in meditation, or in nature. What I never expected, though, was how much I would learn about love from a man who lived on the streets of Portland.
When we met he was at an extreme low point in his already tragic life. Stripped of everything he owned, everything that was important to him (except his companion animals), an amputee without a wheelchair, without ID, without money, without extra clothing, without a safe place to lay his head at night. Sometimes the Universe says, “Here you go, child. A gift”, and we are frightened or distracted, disinterested or confused, angry or dismissive, and we stamp our feet or turn our heads away and say, ‘No. No thank you. That’s not for me.” But sometimes there’s this quiet voice in our heads (or maybe it’s a stirring in our hearts?) that says, ‘Listen. There is something here for you. Trust.”
What can I say? I accepted the invitation against all reason and common sense and in so doing received one of the most profound gifts of my life - my friend M.
He was gruff. He swore. He threatened people. He scared people. He got into fights. He smoked constantly. Cigarettes and cannabis. He had been in prison. He had been in a gang. He had been addicted to meth. He suffered from anxiety, delusions, and bouts of extreme agitation and suicidality. He got tossed out of housing for his explosive episodes.
He was sweet. He was tender. He was grateful. He was honest. He was unbelievably resilient and courageous. He spoke tenderly about the woman who adopted him, the little sister he protected, how his kids used to sleep in bed with him when they were cold or scared. He was a loyal friend to many, including a friend sick with cancer. He was brilliant at helping to get other houseless folks off the street and into recovery. He was a fierce advocate for the houseless. People that knew the side of him that I loved used to say, “He has such a big heart.”
He was vulnerable with me in ways some of my closest and longest-standing friends have never been. Sitting on the sidewalk with him, sharing food, listening to his stories, my hands filthy from petting the dogs, planning a strategy what needed to get done that week to get his needs met, chatting on the phone like old friends, laughing, sharing a hug, I felt truly happy. I felt more like my authentic self in those times with M than in other places in my life because, well, there was absolutely no reason at all to be anything other than my real self. He accepted me exactly as I was. What a gift. No matter what tremendous difficulties were going on his life, he always asked me how I was doing and offered to help in whatever ways he felt he could. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if I or anyone I loved was ever in danger, that man would have shown up like a superhero.
Yes, he blew things up that I had worked tirelessly for months to set up for him because of fear and overwhelm. “I’m a piece of shit”, he would state loudly after a bus driver wouldn’t stop to let him board or a cop would kick him out of a doorway. Hospitals, waiting rooms, confined spaces, hotel rooms...all became unbearable after a certain amount of time. One day, after I had taken time off work to get him to a medical appointment at a small clinic, he freaked out and started wheeling himself out of there. It took some gentle reassurance and understanding that day, along with, “Let’s make sure you get what you need today. Please. We came all this way. Everything’s going to be o.k.” but he did stay.
I could withstand his rages by just listening, breathing, holding a safe space. He would curse and raise his voice and gesticulate and then when it was all over, calmly say, “Thank you for listening to me. I was just really mad. I love you, girl”. But I knew that most of the rest of the world was not going to stand for that kind of behavior and I worried about him. A lot. Some nights, when it was very cold and windy or very wet and I knew he was in a doorway somewhere I would go to my car, put my head on the steering wheel, and sob. I sobbed for him and for all of the men and women and children I knew were sleeping on the streets in this wealthy country where we toss people away as though they have no intrinsic value. As though they are not also children of God and of the Universe.
Over time, it all became too much for me to bear. I wasn’t able to manage my own emotions and feelings of dread with his monthly suicide threats. I wasn’t sleeping well. I felt anxious far too often. The guilt I felt in saying goodbye was deep. The loss I felt was intense. There are very few neighborhoods in this town that don’t remind me of my friend. This is where I brought him an extra blanket. This is where I brought him medicine when he was sick. This is the hotel I helped him move in and out of. This is where I walked the dogs. I think about him, still, every single day. I know from a mutual friend that he’s doing pretty well. Slowing down a bit, but some good things are coming to pass. I can see his beautiful blue eyes, hear his voice saying, “Thank you for helping me. I love you.” I think he knows how much I still love him, too.
I took a break for awhile from serving the houseless community. I knew I had to learn how to love without taking on the pains of my friends as my own because in doing so I was of no use to them. If I fall apart I will not be able to stand by them in solidarity. I am beyond grateful that I found the Hard Times Supper and began volunteering there and that I am continuing to be involved with BeaconPDX. I have new friends - both housed and unhoused - and as a part of a community rather than out there on my own, I know that I will continue to say “yes” when the Universe says, “Here you go, child. A gift.”