Last week I talked with him. At the dark table he told me about
getting hit by a car. Today I can’t remember what his face looked like. I
search my mind trying to conger an image but it’s nebulous and just out of
reach. He’s gone. Dead. Behind the Rite
Aid. No one knows exactly what happened.
getting hit by a car. Today I can’t remember what his face looked like. I
search my mind trying to conger an image but it’s nebulous and just out of
reach. He’s gone. Dead. Behind the Rite
Aid. No one knows exactly what happened.
I’m tired of death. Jose died alone by the Jack in the Box. Billie
was hit by a car and the driver along with his justice slipped away. Rick, who
used to be a college professor, took his last breath in a soiled blanket on the
streets. One week I was talking to a vibrant young woman, the next an
overdose stole her life. Her grieving fiance shared his tears and pain with
us in the dim park. All I could do was pray. Although I know different,
sometimes that seems like nothing.
was hit by a car and the driver along with his justice slipped away. Rick, who
used to be a college professor, took his last breath in a soiled blanket on the
streets. One week I was talking to a vibrant young woman, the next an
overdose stole her life. Her grieving fiance shared his tears and pain with
us in the dim park. All I could do was pray. Although I know different,
sometimes that seems like nothing.
With Jose (far left) and some of our other Fill-A-Belly guests in 2008.
Tonight a friend who has been with us since the early days in the
park shared his pain. After years as an alcoholic he has gotten sober and
managed to stay there for over a year. He now has a home and is working day to
day, trying to maintain a normal life, but the balance is precarious. His back
is injured. His only income is day labor. He might not make rent this
month and that would catapult him back onto the streets. Despite all that his
primary concern is his daughters Christmas. She is still innocent, he
can’t bear the thought of that being shattered.
park shared his pain. After years as an alcoholic he has gotten sober and
managed to stay there for over a year. He now has a home and is working day to
day, trying to maintain a normal life, but the balance is precarious. His back
is injured. His only income is day labor. He might not make rent this
month and that would catapult him back onto the streets. Despite all that his
primary concern is his daughters Christmas. She is still innocent, he
can’t bear the thought of that being shattered.
I fly through the motions and probably have 30 to 40 conversations
on a Tuesday night. What would I do differently if I thought of those
conversations as my last? Too often lately they are.
on a Tuesday night. What would I do differently if I thought of those
conversations as my last? Too often lately they are.
A snapshot of our Thanksgiving feast last week.
Every week I have the honor of hearing stories, of giving witness to
a population who are painfully overlooked. I’m the lucky one; I get to be
loved by our guests. We get to celebrate triumphs together, a new job
just when all hope seemed lost, a day of sobriety stretching into a week, a
home. We have hugged, chatted and eaten together most weeks for the last
5 years. I’m blessed.
a population who are painfully overlooked. I’m the lucky one; I get to be
loved by our guests. We get to celebrate triumphs together, a new job
just when all hope seemed lost, a day of sobriety stretching into a week, a
home. We have hugged, chatted and eaten together most weeks for the last
5 years. I’m blessed.
I still can’t quite picture his face, but bits and pieces of our
conversation come floating back, as tears about the injustice of his death flow
down. Last week he looked me in the eyes and told me how grateful he was
for the Thanksgiving feast. This week he is gone.
conversation come floating back, as tears about the injustice of his death flow
down. Last week he looked me in the eyes and told me how grateful he was
for the Thanksgiving feast. This week he is gone.
Flowers we arranged for the guests at our Fill-A-Belly Thanksgiving feast.
