It’s that time of year again. We’re a week away from the winter solstice and that means the longest night of the year. It also means the night when homeless advocates across the land come to remember unhoused people who not only live on the street but die there as well.
In our case, the volunteers from #memorialblanket, we collect handmade blankets and put them on display to raise awareness of what it would look like if 500, or 700, or a thousand folks were sleeping on the ground in front of casual observers that happen past the display. At night’s end, the blankets are picked up and distributed to folks in need. Go to the Memorial Blanket website and see the pictures from years gone by – especially last year when we put 1179 handmade blankets on the west lawn of the U.S. Capitol.
Last year was the first year that Sharon participated. Not her real name, but the rest of this story is true. She lived in Old Orchard Beach, Maine. Earlier last year, her landlord of eight plus years sold the building and the new owner wanted to convert to short term seasonal rentals. Sharon and her neighbors got the boot. Where to go when you’re a home health worker living in vacationland? Unable to afford anything in the area (a region she’d lived since birth) Sharon lived in her car.
Maine is a beautiful place. Four majestic seasons – all known for their extremes. Cold in winter, bustling with tourists in summer, crisp ‘n crowded in fall and damp as hell in spring (known to locals as mud season). It’s not a forgiving place. Cars aren’t all that hospitable either. No running water, no storage space, no privacy. The home health nurse lost her job not long after losing her home. (One the last karmatic blow).
Sleeping in the parking lot at a power retailer, Sharon knew she had to find another job if she was going to get a better place to live. Since the pandemic, Maine’s housing costs have continued to climb. Sharon wondered if she’d have to move, just to find a place to live. “I have a high school diploma. I marched with my class. I graduated with many of the same kids I started kindergarten with – I’m from here – I need to live here.”
A fast-food place advertised for workers. (Hang tight, if you wanted to learn about Boris — not his real name either, it’s coming right up). Sharon sat with a kind faced man for her interview. “Where do you live?” he asked.
Sharon hadn’t put an address on the application. She broke down. “I told him. You’re not going to believe this, but I sleep in the back seat of my car. I don’t even have an have an address.” Or a bathroom, she thought.
Boris told her that he believed she’d be a good employee. Having worked hard for decades, maybe if she was willing to try, he could help her make it. Sharon’s been working for Boris ever since.
Boris was right. Sharon’s a model employee. She works a very regular shift, five days a week. Isn’t late. Doesn’t call in sick.
Still, when, a few months into his employ… she got a call from her caseworker that there was an apartment to see an hour after her shift started, Sharon became afraid. She’d have to miss hours of work with zero notice. She called Boris, “It’s okay. This is important,” he said. He covered for her until she could get in, three hours late.
Boris is a good guy. Boris gets it. Sharon would stop a runaway train for him. Not the bond you’d expect for a fast-food worker and her manager.
I met Sharon last year when she made a blanket for our #memorialblanket. This year, housed, she made fifteen. “I know what it’s like to learn that someone cares.”
For Sharon – these blankets show people she cares much the way Boris cares about her.
After I got the blankets loaded into my car, the generous woman and I went for breakfast. She looked at me and smiled, “Can I tell you a story? I don’t want to offend you.”
I promised not to be offended.
“A little while ago, I was in the bathroom of my new apartment. Getting ready, I tore my underpants. I left the bathroom, walked through the living room, past the kitchen area and into my bedroom to get a new pair… just wearing my socks.”
Not offended, we both started laughing. Sharon continued, “That’s not something you can do in a shelter!”
“Or in a car,” I added.
“No, not in a car, for sure. That’s the best feeling in the world – to walk from the bathroom to the bedroom to get a new pair of underpants.”
This December 21st – we must acknowledge that if the wealthiest nation on earth can’t guarantee people the dignity of getting dressed in privacy… that’s by design. We can do it, but we don’t.
Meanwhile — people are dying while they wait for a little dignity and a home.
NB: I’m dedicating the work I do to the memory of Alan Rigg – a man made homeless by the Camp Fire in Paradise . Last spring he died, still waiting for his home.