Dear Anonymous,
Off Mike goes with a bag of toys we supplied this morning.
Maybe managing his mood through giving. That's not the whole story, I understand. But it is a medicine I can understand. It connects him to youth in a healthy way in which he seems to prosper.
The guys standing around my car ooooh and ahhhh as we reveal the items. A Barbie doll of color. A WWF action figure. A toy fire truck. Action figures of all sorts.
OOOOOOOOOOO. Ahhhhhh.
And they show in that second the children still in there.
Just for a moment. A crowd of boys, though they are all men.
And then it's off for a beer. Or a smoke. Or whatever it is that is their next step. One man looking better than usual comments,' People trash talk SPICE (a street drug) but when I use it I don't wanna' drink. And I don't wanna do weed. So that's a win.'
And he does look better.
All finding our way. And losing it. And finding it. And.....
Haven't seen him in a week so it is good to lay eyes upon him...
Dear Anonymous,
Haven't seen him in a week so it is good to lay eyes upon him.
He is struggling. He stumbles into an explanation for his absence and I smile and stop. There is no owing of explanations. There is no throne of expectation willing to dash anyone to the feet of disappointment. Life is hard enough.
Need a clean shirt?
How about a water?
A coffee card. A piece of cake.
Love you.
Love from the streets.
Memory from July 8th, 2019:
Dear Anonymous,
He shouts at me from across the street.
'Hey! I got somethin' for you!'
He hands me a card. Taped inside is a necklace he has made. Within it is a note torn from a spiral bound notebook.
It is a thank you to a certain Dear Anonymous. It's content echoes the same message he has for each of you. For all of you Dear Anonymous's.
'Thank you for everything you do. I would have wrote sooner except I have problems with reading and writing, so someone helped me write to you.
You have done more than my family has ever done for me. You've shown me love and compassion. Which has made me see my life from a different point of view.
Also, it's inspired me to start doing some art work.
All my love from me and the homeless community.
We love and appreciate you!'
Coloring books. Paper. Markers. Socks. Coffee cards. The blankets. The fleece neck warmers. The boots. So simple.
It does not go unnoticed.
Love from the streets.
Here is a message attached to a PayPal donation of cash to Dear Anonymous...
Dear Anonymous,
Here is a message attached to a PayPal donation of cash to Dear Anonymous. ( https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/joannearnoldefforts )
'Do as you see fit for a suffering person from a suffering person.'
A donation from someone who knows the streets. Harder streets than these.Knows isolation cells down in the basements of prisons. Knows heroin addiction. Knows recovery.
Deep regards and unbounded gratitude.
'Been hard the last two months. My girl left. She wants to be HERE. I can't be THERE...'
Dear Anonymous,
'Been hard the last two months. My girl left. She wants to be HERE. I can't be THERE. We fall into bad habits together. But everybody's askin' for her all day. And my mom, she's real ill. And it's rainin' and the cops tell us to move out from beneath the awning and we're drenched and then the next cop tells us to move under the awning 'cuz it's rainin'.
We got Hannaford cards donated to us and a bunch of us pooled it together to get stuff for the shelter kids. We was able to get popsickles and cookies and we got them to the beach. And they played. With the new toys I brought. Some of them kids had never seen the water before even livin' here in Portland. It was somethin' different for them. For us. It helped the parents. Helped the kids. Gave us somethin' good to do. I wound up playin' Barbie. Dressin' and undressin' the dolls like the girls do cuz' that's how they play. One little one kept runnin' to the edge of the water and just stickin' her toe in and runnin' back. Over and over.....'
These are toys from Dear Anonymous for Mike to distribute at the shelter...
Dear Anonymous,
These are toys from Dear Anonymous for Mike to distribute at the shelter.
Mike has told us giving to others, particularly kids going without, is a high. 'I love these kids. It's their parents who get a little grabby!'
I say I hope it makes someones' day.
'You kidding?' he belts out on the sidewalk 'It's makin' MY day. They're gonna love this. '
He looks at me impishly and says ' I can't wait to play!'
And he trudges off like the Street Santa. Toys in a garbage bag. Goodwill.
The card that Mike received as part of a gift after a weekend when he overdosed...
Dear Anonymous,
The card that Mike received as part of a gift after a weekend when he overdosed and was good as dead had no one intervened with Narcan. He is hanging onto it. Closely.
Says it helps him.He is grateful for it, thank you Dear Anonymous.
In a world where a policeman came through and said,
'I'm sick of all your needles. I'm sick of all you addicts. You should all die.'
When this is what is said out loud to you.
Mike is clear this is not ALL police.
Not at all. And he was very clear about this.
But words can cut like knives.
Homeless. Not heartless.
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street...
Dear Anonymous,
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street. A man, a stranger to Mike, jumped in to administer narcan, not once, but three times before the ambulance arrived with the fourth shot on the way to the ER.The man even retrieved Mikes' gear and kept it all safe for him until he was released from the hospital.
That man speaks little English and is an immigrant, we believe from Iraq.
Mike found him yesterday to thank him. Offered him a beautiful medicine bundle gift from his own culture and tried to describe its meaning and value to the man who saved his life.
'I tried but I was gonna' start ballin' my eyes out. Years ago I woulda' said GET LOST to someone like him....'.
Someone like him refers to the mans' immigrant status.
Mike is struggling this morning with inner disappointment, that shame of relapse. A heavy burden.
He's taking some actions to start painting again.
He stuffs a bag with donated womens pants and tshirts to bring 'up the hill' to the resource center.
Mike is showing me that he attached a card sent to him along with a medicine bundle from a friend in the Penobscot Nation. He says it's a prayer that helps him. Sometimes I watch people who have almost nothing, and what is it they hold onto. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here...
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.
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Mike is a shoe guy and was really pleased with this donation. Happy feet help on the street when you're pounding the pavement without regular hygiene.
It's a morning of loss too.
This young man lost his family to his drug use. Worried about his mom.
And this woman. She lost her job, her home, her kids. Drug use.
He lost his backpack. Again. Pants, no belt...and all I can find is some clothesline.
He, well, he lost his patience long ago. Along with a grandson.
Some have lost their minds.
Mike apologizes for the behavior of one person, 'She 's been out here so long she's lost her politeness.'
And so it is.
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything....'
Dear Anonymous,
'I been upset lately. I can't even visit the kids. Can't give 'em anything. That's such a high for me. I was sittin' outside usin' and a 10 year old kid came up to me. I know him from the shelter. He said 'Whatcha' doin' Mikey? That stuff's no good for you, Mikey.' A TEN year old lookin' at me, tellin me this.'
He heads out with a few RICKY,INC. backpacks to help distribute. Bringing a streetfriend up to hopefully find a caseworker. He wants help.
There are tears and tissues and no more coffee cake.
He shows me a little toy a buddy at the shelter gave him...
Dear Anonymous,
He shows me a little toy a buddy at the shelter gave him. One of the kids he's brought toys to in the past year. Hasn't seen him much during the shut down.
The little boy offers him the key chain. Mike accepts.
'I'll give it back as soon as he wants it.'
He tells me the boy and his mom now have a home.
The boy told him he even has his own room. A first.
He smiles.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Did you sleep at all?...
Dear Anonymous,
Did you sleep at all?
'Sleep? What's that? I roll over and she's not there and then I'm wide awake. I rearranged the bedroom my uncle let me sleep in. I had to do something.'
Have you eaten?
'Nah, can't keep anything down.'
He is thanking the tribal representative who sent this bundle for him. I read the message on the card that was included. He listens. Both our hearts melt. Our eyes collect dew. Yeah, that must be it.
He tucks it tenderly into his shirt pocket. Thank you, Dear Anonymous.
It is wet and chilly out here and Mike is shivering. Everyone struggling their struggles...
Dear Anonymous,
It is wet and chilly out here and Mike is shivering. Everyone struggling their struggles. And exceptionally polite. And kind. In this moment. Always a 'Love ya'' when they leave. Always a consideration of 'How are YOU today?' These two markers of humanity always move me. It is not a given. And when anyone of us is lost in what ever suffering we are suffering, hearts appear to shut down like collapsing origami balloons. All that space that can hold 'other' collapsed.
A piece of coffeecake here. A coffee card there. Finally able to get this one woman some new underwear. She smiles a smile that lights up the street. Mens boxer briefs hold real street cred out here. Handed out as a sacrament of holiness.
No pun intended. They are received with the embodied gratitude of open palms, of two hands opening a tattered bag and accepting them as they drop to the bottom.
Backpacks via #maggiesmission where swept up. Thank you.
Dry socks on a wet day. Divinity.
One man hands me a gift. A copy of THE PLAGUE by Albert Camus. I promise to bring books the next time to swap.
There were three men chatting over cigarettes and there was coffee cake and water and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
There were three men chatting over cigarettes and there was coffee cake and water and coffee cards. There were socks.
One of them had requested a backpack.
I said, 'I got one but, it's... well, it's pretty.'
They all stop.
How pretty?
I say, 'It's pretty damn pretty.'
I go to the car and show the man who scoffs at it.
Mike on the other hand said 'What the hell? I've thrown bright pink backpacks over my shoulder and walked uptown!'
He takes the very preppy, very white pack, pretty much made for a picnic on a boat heading out from a yacht club.
I said 'So, I see you can do pretty?'
Mike laughs.
And that...that was the moment we both sought.
I told them I would order pink backpacks from here on out. It was met with laughter and groans and a few eye rolls.
He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation...
Dear Anonymous,
He was in and out of the hospital last night. Story unclear. Not sure. OD maybe. Profound agitation. Upset with a possible relationship break up. No reserve to cope with the emotional onslaught. In the ER a woman wails as her husband dies there. He leaves the ER.
'Can't handle it. I was depressed going in, and then THAT?'
Another man shares his plan to get on a bus today to Boston. He can't make enough signing on the street up here since Covid19.
Socks. Water. Coffee cards. A t shirt. Tiny little props for an unhinged moment.
"If we desire a society in which men are brothers, then we must act towards one another with brotherhood..."
"If we desire a society in which men are brothers, then we must act towards one another with brotherhood. If we can build such a society, then we would have achieved the ultimate goal of human freedom." – Bayard Rustin
This image was originally posted June 8th, 2018, with the following caption:
Chronicle of a Homeless Man: Mistaken for someone wanted by police he is taken down in a parking lot by three policemen. The fourth incoming officer recognizes him by name, and assures the other officers it is not who they are looking for. A fractured rib, and a damaged ankle he goes to the ER. Where he is offered a 'cocktail' of pain killers including oxycontin. He is two years sober. He knows well it's the beginning of the end of sobriety, or sell them on the street. He declines both apparently. He walks all night, having taken an aspirin,unable to sleep. One never knows the whole story. But this is a chapter.
I was able to hand out a few pairs of shoes yesterday and there were some happy feet today...
Dear Anonymous,
I was able to hand out a few pairs of shoes yesterday and there were some happy feet today. Today, a woman needing pants. I have none that fit her. She takes a pair of new men's boxers to wear under her torn ones, open seam in the back. She smiles. A big beautiful smile. And says God bless you. If blessings are being handed out I want to return her blessing. If god is not available I pray she is blessed in all ways by this world.
Mike is having a tough time. Relationship trouble has him seperated from his partner. He slept at a friends for an hour. But he has trouble sleeping, so he wanders. All night. As he does. He's cold and needs dry pants, which I have.
Thank you, Dear Anonymous.
He can't keep much down. Which is not unusual for him....
Dear Anonymous,
He can't keep much down. Which is not unusual for him.
In my own life I imagine the toll irregular eating would take on my body. Of dubious and unpredictable nutrition. Of the effects of irregular sleep on my GI system. Add to that addictions. Past and present. Gives me a stomach ache thinking about it.
It takes its toll. It exacts its price in flesh.
Meanwhile, a regular has disappeared from the streets. He told me he was waiting for a bed in rehab up in Lewiston. Praying he is in that bed. Another has been on such a tear with alcohol everybody just shakes their head when I ask about him. Praying he will find his way. I know this has been his way.
Socks, coffee cards, a few tshirts and boxers today. And no, I never imagined handing out mens boxer briefs on the street. My imagination was not strong enough to imagine their gratitude.
Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff...
Dear Anonymous,
Sleeping rough. Losing weight. Someone stole my phone. Can't get my stuff. Emotionally exhausted. Emotionally exhausting. Pierce through that at any moment and you'll find a heart.
The young kid? Black eye healing. Talking rat- a- tat about this and that and his friend down in the park and the girl he was with that had broken quarantine and got hauled away by the police, or winds up at the ER. Pierce through that at any point and you find a heart.
And the guy folded over sitting on the curb staring at his feet? With stories of FBI infiltration and how they sprayed us back in February as a mass control conspiracy? Pierce through that at any seam and you'll find a heart.
Broken. Wobbly. Injured. Beating irregularly. But that heart will beat with yours for just this moment. Heartbeat of these streets.