on not making it all okay
I wasn't home last night. I was sleeping in a big room with about 6 other women. It was a freeze night and the emergency shelters were open and I put my name on the list of people to call if needed.
I am passionate about this: Everyone, every soul on the planet should have a safe, comfortable place to sleep at night. I also think society should figure out a way for every law abiding person (and I count among that group anyone who has already done any time if they had time to do) should have a room of their own, a nice quilt, a good dog (or cat) and healthy food.
Still, when I left the house to go for my shift, after bringing in the cats, and getting the dogs situated, I felt a deep, restless sadness. I wasn't sure if I should go at all, actually.
I'm not new to working with the homeless. I've been volunteering at a local day shelter for about 4 years. I love my friends there. I tell people it's because they are honest, and they don't bullshit, at least not about the big things. My homeless friends have no time for pretense. They've already lost so much, pretending it's all gonna be okay would be stupid. It might not be okay; it might never be as okay as it was, or as it could be. A person can't always be working on finding the better job, the cheaper place to live, or trying to mend relationships so they can go back home. We don't pretend it's simple, because it's isn't simple. We talk about possibilities and we talk about resources and sometimes we just play checkers and make stupid jokes. They remind me of something that is taking me years to learn and which I still have to work on: You can’t fix what isn’t yours to fix, no matter how bad you want to.
Back to last night, this particular emergency shelter is only open to homeless women and I can't help but feel sad and a bit hopeless when I talk to the women. Many of them have stories of abuse, of being tossed out and landing hard. Many have lost their children, which is something you probably never get over. Of course we're all culpable for our actions and our choices, but the truth is, a bad choice will come at very high cost for the ladies. Some of those choices will leave a person with, as John Steinbeck put it "a God sized hole in your heart."
We had a small group and when I arrived for my overnight shift, the few who were there were asleep. The volunteers slept in shifts so someone would always be awake to let anyone else in who need a warm place for the night. I didn't have to be on duty until around 4 a.m, so I crawled in my sleeping bag at 10 and read myself to sleep with a flashlight.
When I woke up for my shift, the sun was just barely coming up. I looked through the fogged up windows at the cold, empty downtown streets. No one should be out on a cold night like last night. I started the coffee a little after 5 and everyone else slowly began waking up.
We chatted through breakfast. We talked about our kids, about our loves and our pets. They told us they were sorry there weren't more of them in the shelter, it seemed like so much trouble for us to open up the place and make dinner and disrupt our own lives for such a small group. We told them, if there were just one of you, it would be worth it. This is where we want to be.
It was a nice morning.
I can't say the feeling of sadness left me as I went home. If anything, I was more aware of my tendency to want to make everything better. This wasn’t the morning for that, though. Maybe the trick is to be content with what you can do, with the small gestures. Sometimes you have to leave it at that. You really just do.
I am passionate about this: Everyone, every soul on the planet should have a safe, comfortable place to sleep at night. I also think society should figure out a way for every law abiding person (and I count among that group anyone who has already done any time if they had time to do) should have a room of their own, a nice quilt, a good dog (or cat) and healthy food.
Still, when I left the house to go for my shift, after bringing in the cats, and getting the dogs situated, I felt a deep, restless sadness. I wasn't sure if I should go at all, actually.
I'm not new to working with the homeless. I've been volunteering at a local day shelter for about 4 years. I love my friends there. I tell people it's because they are honest, and they don't bullshit, at least not about the big things. My homeless friends have no time for pretense. They've already lost so much, pretending it's all gonna be okay would be stupid. It might not be okay; it might never be as okay as it was, or as it could be. A person can't always be working on finding the better job, the cheaper place to live, or trying to mend relationships so they can go back home. We don't pretend it's simple, because it's isn't simple. We talk about possibilities and we talk about resources and sometimes we just play checkers and make stupid jokes. They remind me of something that is taking me years to learn and which I still have to work on: You can’t fix what isn’t yours to fix, no matter how bad you want to.
Back to last night, this particular emergency shelter is only open to homeless women and I can't help but feel sad and a bit hopeless when I talk to the women. Many of them have stories of abuse, of being tossed out and landing hard. Many have lost their children, which is something you probably never get over. Of course we're all culpable for our actions and our choices, but the truth is, a bad choice will come at very high cost for the ladies. Some of those choices will leave a person with, as John Steinbeck put it "a God sized hole in your heart."
We had a small group and when I arrived for my overnight shift, the few who were there were asleep. The volunteers slept in shifts so someone would always be awake to let anyone else in who need a warm place for the night. I didn't have to be on duty until around 4 a.m, so I crawled in my sleeping bag at 10 and read myself to sleep with a flashlight.
When I woke up for my shift, the sun was just barely coming up. I looked through the fogged up windows at the cold, empty downtown streets. No one should be out on a cold night like last night. I started the coffee a little after 5 and everyone else slowly began waking up.
We chatted through breakfast. We talked about our kids, about our loves and our pets. They told us they were sorry there weren't more of them in the shelter, it seemed like so much trouble for us to open up the place and make dinner and disrupt our own lives for such a small group. We told them, if there were just one of you, it would be worth it. This is where we want to be.
It was a nice morning.
I can't say the feeling of sadness left me as I went home. If anything, I was more aware of my tendency to want to make everything better. This wasn’t the morning for that, though. Maybe the trick is to be content with what you can do, with the small gestures. Sometimes you have to leave it at that. You really just do.
Labels: homeless
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