Dear Anonymous,
This morning was full. One man just out of jail... with nothing. We geared him up with a backpack, socks, hand warmers, sweatshirt and thermal layers. A coffee card. A toothbrush. Toothpaste. A blanket. Just out a couple days ago and applying for disability.
Another beautiful young man I know and recognize, being released from county (jail) next week. He shares his big smile.
'You get out next week?' and then I hold him by the arm. 'Do you have a plan? I am tired of losing you guys when you get out.' I stare at him. He stares back. We both know it's a life and death transition; a gap many feel they can leap but many never make. And they fall.
There is a moment where all I can see are his immense eyes; I feel his muscular arm through his Carhartt coat and I see the sun beginning to rise and light up the sky behind him.
'I promise.' he says. But I can't keep the tears from welling. He and his buddy, on work release ask for socks. Coffee cards.
And then the sweet man who hurried down on Christmas morning to pick up a coat we had put aside for him, hands me this. Addressed to 'JUDE', apparently my new street name. I notice how carefully it is handwritten. How precisely the envelope is sealed. How carefully he kept it in his satchel. I wonder, how did he get a card? How did he organize this? He struggles with organizing gear every morning into his bag. It appears confounding and overwhelming to him. My heart often cracks a bit as he becomes flustered putting socks in this pocket and a card in that one.
I wait until I get home to open it. And here, here is an exquisite little card. And it is for all of you Dear Anonymous's. Thank you dear Brian.
Homeless. Not heartless.