This is for you, Paul.
It was an extra moist night in Detroit. My best buddy Nick came out with me this week. I love doing street outreach with him. He’s 6’4”. People tend to calm down when Nick’s around. All he has to do is get out of the vehicle and stand there. It’s great. Plus, it’s always a bonus when the men see other men helping one another.
We started off behind a bar where a few friends live. One of my buddies got a place, and he has been doing well keeping it together. His son is excelling in college and promises to not do drugs like his dad. He made his son make that vow.
I was able to help the only 2 females we saw. They are precious sweethearts, and I’m glad we saw them. Everyone was super hungry. I was proud to have plenty of food. One of the ladies told me, “I love to see you guys. It’s always the best, because you have the best stuff.”
Our meals are fresh and healthy.
Our hygiene kits are useful and well thought out.
Our clothes are clean and wearable.
Our blankets are bagged up for carrying.
We (often) have pepper spray, flashlights, and sometimes tents.
Thank you, donors.
I saw the homeless dog again. He’s in the same place. He still doesn’t trust anyone to get near him. His tail is fixed between his legs.
For the most part it was a mellow night. We cruised the area for a bit. We saw a shelter challenged person who we knew. We spotted him digging through the trash can in front of the gas station. We pulled over for a quick drop off out the window. I handed him a meal. He thanked me.
I recognized him as the guy who was staying in the same spot my buddy, Paul, was staying in. I asked him, what’s up with Paul.
“Paul overdosed. He went into rehab for a few months. He was in transition. He started messing with Girl thinking he’d be okay. But he got into Boy, and it killed him.”
“What’s ‘Girl’ and ‘Boy’?” I asked him.
He replied matter-of-factly. “Girl, is crack. Boy, is fentanyl.”
“Oh.” I replied quietly. “Thank you.”
We reminisced upon Paul for a minute, then parted ways.
Next, we saw some bridge people. They have maintained their area of privacy for some time. I gave them blankets to help prepare for the winter.
We went to the abandoned school. Four or five young men and two older men came out. They were very sweet and respectful. Mostly they were grateful for food, blankets, hygiene and a backpack.
People are asking about winter gear, like hats and gloves already.
I miss Paul.
Traci and I nicknamed him ‘Big Hands’. The first time we met him was the very first night Traci and I went out on Tuesday night Outreach. He asked if we had any gloves. We did.
“I need big gloves! I have big hands! I have extra big hands! I need big gloves! Big gloves, for big hands!”
I leaned over into the back of the Denali to get him some gloves, and he positioned himself right behind me, uncomfortably close to my rear end. Traci went full-on Chihuahua on him. She yelled and hollered and scolded him right quick. He cried and ran back to the other volunteers.
The next time we saw him, he apologized profusely. We warmly forgave him. He promised that no one on the street would ever disrespect us in that way ever again. And no one ever has.
The teams kept searching until we found some hidden away places where homeless lived, and then didn’t, and now they do again. Businessmen walked past us as we ran food and blankets down to a hidden sanctuary. I was glad we found them.
Paul and I used to argue over who was the king of Goth music. He defiantly claimed it was Peter Murphy. I staunchly argued that it was Robert Smith.
Amid deplorable human trafficking, rampant drug trafficking, a homeless epidemic, starvation, overdoses, and huge rats, Big Hands and I could be people. We had normal people conversations. We talked about real life (for us). He built amazing forts out of pieces of the city he saw lying around. That’s what else we had in common. We saw the value in people and things that anyone else would have thrown away and forgotten.
I didn’t save my Big Hands. I couldn’t. It’s not even what I’m out there for. But I know for a fact that when he died, he KNEW he was loved.
I love you, Paul. Until we meet on the other side.
Because that’s how we do it in Detroit.
Amen.
