Dear Anonymous,
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here. Abusive dads. Dads that are dead now, that despite their abuse, they miss with their broken hearts. Dads they are afraid to call because they are calling from the street. And that call is likely not going to go well.
Grief over not being able to be present to their own children. Or failing at yet another relationship. Abandoning their own children as they have felt abandoned. There is love in the story. Ferocious love wanting to be lived but it's strangled with trauma. Riddled and choked with shame. Complicated with mental health issues.
So, hey the pain is too much and I don't wanna feel ANY more pain, so...let's get high.
And by the grace of a stranger on the street and three narcan shots administered by that stranger and another narcan shot in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and he's here to speak about it.This is the story Mike tells me of his yesterday.
An empathetic ER doc who fed him popsicles and talked straight with him is on my mind. Thank you. The stranger is on my mind too. Thank you. That Mike will share this story is a sign of strength I pray he someday recognizes if not already.
The ghosts of guilt, shame and remorse are flying about his head like those old cartoons of birds flying in a circle to illustrate the effect of being pummeled in the head.
I arrived in a pissy mood, not aware of the situation. And he made every attempt to lift my spirits. He tried to soothe my aggravated little, puny self. And then this story tumbled out.
Sometimes it is really best to shut the f*** up.
Every card. Every shirt. Every pair of socks. Walked away clutched in hands and stuffed in packs.