I really don’t want to write this one. But I, your faithful, honest, reporter, must tell the whole story. Journalist code.
The good news is, I was there to give two mega hugs to two men who desperately needed a real hug from a real friend. The rest was a struggle from within.
Our first stop was the old, abandoned, factory. Nick and I waited outside and guarded the vehicles while the medical team was inside doing their thing.
Next, we saw the father of the baby of my friend who is recovering and getting well. The place where she is won’t let anyone call her. They are keeping her safe. According to her fiancé, the day she left the street to go into a treatment center, she had the baby. A Christmas baby! A couple of hours later, the housing resource specialist showed up with her housing voucher. But she was gone. So, he waits outside in the cold until she comes back for him, I guess. In the meantime, his tent was raided and all his blankets, gloves, everything was thrown away. He is already riddled with anxiety and compulsive disorders. He is so worried for her and freaking out about seeing his baby son. That was my first love bomb hug of the night.
Next, we saw my buddy, Big Hands. He was talking to another outreach team, when I handed him his meal, and a hygiene kit. He stopped what he was doing. His jaw dropped open. He put his long arms around me and held onto me for dear life. I pushed every drop of warm love, and hope through his ragged jacket. I haven’t seen him in weeks either. The cops threw away his blankets and burned down his fort. Over and over again.
“The cops threw my stuff away.”
“My fort was raided. I don’t have anything left.”
Then I end up back at a place I HATE going. We were not supposed to come back there. But the new team was a harm reduction team (drug addiction advocacy). And that’s great, but…
Ugh.
Traci wasn’t there to run gamut for me. I had to do it. I served him meals with a smile. Then the other lady, too. There were scabby blood stains all over his legs. It’s disgusting. Then he came back a few minutes later and asked for a meal for Marilyn Monroe. I still haven’t laid eyes on her for at least a year.
As I was shutting up the back of the van, I heard a woman shrieking. It was coming from a person whose upper body was leaning outside of the window.
I approached the ambulance window and told the TC, “Someone is shrieking out a window from across the street. I believe it’s your name they are screaming repeatedly. You could look into that if you wanted to.”
I couldn’t tell what was going on over there. It only lasted a few minutes, whatever she needed.
We rolled on.
The last stop took it out of me. I’m not unlimited.
I saw my Widow! It’s been months! I’ve been asking around for her.
She acted like she didn’t know me. She was dressed in flattering clothes, with a new hair style to cover her dead eye.
She was embarrassed to see me. The thing I was most proud of her for, isn’t true anymore. When she did come up to the van, she asked for makeup. Because, she said, keeps getting beat up all the time. When I tried to get her to tell me what she’d been up to, she changed the subject. She asked for extra food to take back to another friend I know. No hugs from her this time. No love.
My heart kind of broke. A very small, skinny, woman asked me if we had food. I gave her the last four pb&j’s, some donuts, cookies, water, soup, then kissed her head and blessed her heart.
I walked back to the medical team and told them I was done for the night.
I was glad to be there with hugs for my two friends who really needed one person to be on their side. I’m glad I was there for the people who were so terribly hungry and cold last night. I’m glad Nick came out. Everyone loves it when Nick comes out.
Maybe the next time we go to THAT house, I’ll bust inside. I’ll find her. I’ll love her.
And then, I will find a way to replace every dang sleeping bag that got thrown away. The game just got tougher.
But so did I.
Because that’s how we do it in Detroit.
Amen.
(Original Artwork by Amy Fischer)