Forward... That's a Good Way to Go. Forward

I don’t share their names.  Never share their names. 

I typically don’t share a gender.  Because really, why does gender matter anyway? And also, out of respect.  Nothing that might make you, the reader, identify the person in the story.

But today – today I feel I must share the gender.

Because she is real.  She is sick.  And she is our neighbor.

My neighbor and yours – no matter where you live.

She is our neighbor .

I went outside to hang a coat up in Project Warmth, the winter program where we put out cold weather gear for passersby in need to take.  I heard the siren of an ambulance or fire truck, wasn’t sure which.  I didn’t pay much attention – emergency vehicles pass our busy home often.  It wasn’t until I walked around the corner and saw a man walking his dog that I took notice.  “I called them,” he said. 

I turned around and realized that the ambulance had stopped right across the street.  And I saw a fabric puddle of orange, black on brown on the sidewalk, with 2 EMTs standing over it.

“When I walked by the first time, she was sitting up, eating something,” the man with the dog told me.  “But now, now lying down…  I am not sure…”.

Fear shot through me.  Was she dead?  Just lying there on the sidewalk, right across from our house, dead? 

We both kept our distance out of respect and concern.  “I bet she got the food here at the pantry,” I told him.  “I don’t know, she had marshmallows or something…” he said.

Yes.  Marshmallows.  I had put a bag of mini marshmallows in the pantry last night right before bed.  It was a special treat, and I imagined whoever found it would be happy.

The pile of fabric moved.  The person sat up. 

She was alive.

“I need to go see if it is someone I know,” I told the man.  As I crossed, I heard an EMT tell her, “You can’t lay here.  People will worry.  They will think it is a medical emergency and keep calling 911.”

She was standing, coat hood on her head, dirty sleeping bag wrapped around.  But she was standing.

“Hey, would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked as I got close enough.

“No, no.  But hey, do you have any hot chocolate??  I have been wanting hot chocolate…”.

Of course!  The marshmallows.  She had been sitting eating the marshmallows, maybe dreaming of hot chocolate to go with them.

I ran home and quickly made a hot chocolate.  I squirted some whipped cream on it and rushed back outside hoping she was still there to get it.  She was there, but the ambulance had left.  Left her alone.  Alone, as I am sure she usually is.

I put the steaming cup of cocoa on a fence post, using it as a table.  “Here, it’s really hot, so be careful.  Would you like some soup?  I could bring you some.”

At first she said yes, but when I asked if she ate meat or not, she changed her mind.  “You know, I really don’t eat much.  Maybe just some crackers…”.

“I have crackers.  Anything else you need?  What size shoes do you wear?” I asked, looking down at her slippers with non-slip hospital socks wedged in them to try and make them fit.  She told me she was a size 6 to 6.5, and also asked for a black hoodie, black sweatpants, and black socks.  “I am not sure what I have, but I will bring some things,” I told her and came back home to look through the Project Warmth donations.

I collected 3 hoodies (none all black, but all warm), some leggings (not sweatpants, but black), some black long underwear pants, very warm winter socks, and the only adult boots I had – size 10.  I also made a basket of food choices – 2 kinds of crackers, granola bar, precooked pasta and precooked meatballs, homemade banana muffin (thank you kind neighbor for making those), fruit cup, applesauce cup, Go Go Squeezes, Goldfish crackers, raisins, protein shake, Gatorade, juice…  I tried to put in choices that someone who “doesn’t eat much” might be tempted by, knowing that she must eat.  I grabbed a new bag that zips and went back to the corner.

She was still standing.  Pacing.  She was obviously using, and whatever she was on made her have both energy (to pace) and mellowness (to lie down).  She had a scratch on her nose and chapped lips, but other than that no obvious injuries.

I laid the clothing choices out on the fence for her to see.  She picked 2 hoodies and the thermal pants.  She took the socks and the hat.  I held up the boots and explained they were too big, but they were all I had.  As we talked, a woman in an SUV pulled up to the red light and rolled down her window.  “What size shoes does she need??” she asked, having quickly accessed the situation.  “A size 7.  But all I have is a 10…”.  She sighed.  “I have a 9…”.  I thanked her and she drove off.

What a reminder that we all want to help.  All of us.  Every last one. 

We went through the food and drink choices and she took a few.  I packed them into the new bag with the clothes and zipped it all up. 

“Are you working with Path Forward?” I asked.  Path Forward is the local organization that works tirelessly to assist people on the streets.  They provide food, housing, and work to get people re-homed.

“Ahhh, forward…  That’s a good way to go…  Forward….” she said.

We all want to help. 

But sometimes there is NOTHING, absolutely nothing we can do.

And that is a hard fact to accept.

No amount of marshmallows or crackers or sweatpants or boots can make this situation better.  She is sick.  Has an addiction.  She is ill.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I asked before I left.  She told me.  I told her mine.  And I repeated hers out loud.

I repeated it as much to help me try and remember it and I did for her to HEAR IT being spoken.

She is still there.  It’s been an hour, and she is still there.  I can see her from our porch.  She is sitting – I am sure on the same soggy cardboard I saw up close. 

Only now, she has a new warm hoodie pulled up on her head.

And in her belly, hot chocolate and whipped cream.

Maybe some crackers.

Maybe some applesauce…

We all need the same things, every one of us.

We need food. 

Love.

Someone to care.

Community.

Warmth.

Safety.

And for someone to know our name.

For information on substance abuse resources available in Arlington, VA, call 571-302-0327

P.S. – Thank you to the stranger who stopped and asked for the shoe size.  I am quite certain that if I had said, “She needs a 9,” you would have pulled over and taken the shoes off your own feet to give.  Thank you to the man walking the dog who worried and cared enough to call the authorities to come check on the woman.  Thank you to those who donated food for the pantry - making it easy for me to run inside and prepare a cup of cocoa and get food options for her to choose from.  Thank you to people who dropped off winter clothing - giving her the dignity to make choices of what she would like.  And thank you to the friend who also saw the situation and took time to ring our doorbell to see if I knew there was a person in need so close by.  Thank you for listening to me and hugging me as I cried telling the story.  And thanks for encouraging me to write it.