And In The Midst of It All - LILACS

This is a story about misconceptions.

And hopeful interpretations.

And false assumptions.

And perfect timing.

And an apology.

A pantry guest that I have told you about before, one that we have become friends with, we will call him Blue Bike Man, was sent to the Emergency Room yesterday.  I know this because a neighbor who is also friends with him witnessed the paramedics taking him away from the grocery store on a stretcher.

Here is where we find the first hopeful interpretation – the meaning of the word FRIENDS. 

I call this gentleman my friend, but the truth is that he would likely not be able to pick me up out of a line up.  He has severe memory issues, so severe that he cannot remember the names of his own grown children.  Is “friend” a label that can be applied to our relationship?  I consider him a friend, to him I am a stranger that he meets over and over and over.

When I heard he was taken away in an ambulance I rushed to the grocery store to ask the woman who had alerted me (who is my friend in the traditional sense of the word) what had happened.  She didn’t have details, but we agreed that his blue bike needed to be rescued before it was stolen (you see, he has long since lost one of several bike locks that were given to him to keep the bike safe, since, well…  memory issues.)

I drove around and located the bike parked neatly in a bike rack.  I called my partner David and asked him to drive our hatchback vehicle to meet me so we could transport the bike to our house.  “If you come home and pick me up and bring me to the bike, I will just ride it home,” David told me. 

So, before I headed to the hospital to see what I could find about the fate of Blue Bike Man, I witnessed David (my main man) jauntily riding the old bike down the road, sunlight bouncing off the handlebars and David’s silly blue pork pie hat completing the look. 

Now, an important piece to this story is that Blue Bike Man lives on the street.  Somehow (I can’t understand how…) he remembers that his “spot” is in front of a local business’ door, under an awning, on the main road near our house.  He has a piece of cardboard he leaves there to lie on.  That’s where I can find him to deliver a hot meal on a cold night.

Ever since we met him maybe 5 or 6 months ago, he has been a mystery to me.  His memory loss is so severe, and he has an odd speech pattern where he sometimes grunts a bit mid-word.  He and I have sat on our front stairs while he eats and he tells me the same stories over and over and over (it makes me feel better to know he gets a hot meal at least once in a while). 

I had to sit in the Emergency Room waiting room a bit before I could go back to visit him.  The place was packed!  There were people of all ages and it was clear that Blue Bike Man was not the only person experiencing homelessness who had shown up to the ER that night.  While I waited I people watched.  I could hear the conversation of a duo near me; an old, white woman and a middle-aged black man.  The woman looked to be the patient, but she was chatting happily while they sat.  She may have had some memory issues herself.  It was sweet listening to them talk.  Everyone wore masks, but I looked over at the man and made eye contact, then smiled, letting him know with my eyes that I thought it was sweet of him to assist her.

I went back to visit my friend, who didn’t appear to know who I was but nonetheless was happy to see me.  We chatted (the same stories he always tells me – it is all one-sided conversation as he doesn’t seem capable of asking questions or interested in anything the person he is talking with has to say).  The nurses basically left us alone – they had already hooked him up to heart monitors and a pulse oximeter before I arrived.  There was drama when the nurse came to draw blood – oh he was scared!  He is a 63 year old man, but the thought of a needle going into his arm had him worked up!  He shook and almost cried!  I tried to get him to do some deep breathing but truthfully, he wasn’t really buyin’ it. 

We waited for a doctor to come in.  And waited.  And waited.  Like I said, the ER was busy.  And it was full of characters!  Right outside my friend’s bay was a man on a hospital bed in the hallway, David and I called him “talk to himself guy”.  He had a running conversation, only there was no one there to talk with.  And there was “puffy vest guy” – a man who had cut the sleeves off a winter coat and made a DIY puffy vest.  And eventually, the old woman from the waiting room got wheeled back, too.  She also had a bed in the hallway and not a room. 

After an hour or so I popped out to talk to the companion of the old woman I had seen in the waiting area.  He explained that he was a neighbor to the woman and that she is 85 years old.  She was tiny and frail looking and had a bad, bad cough.  But she was peppy! 

We had spoken a few minutes when the man said, “I want to apologize to you.  A heartfelt, sincere apology.”

What?  An apology?  For what??  I couldn’t imagine what he felt he had done in the short time we had been seated near each other in the waiting room that would demand an apology.

“Ummm, ok…  An apology for what??” I asked.

“I know who you are.  I knew who you were right away when I saw you in the lobby.  Your name is Susan.”

Ok, now this was getting stranger…  I had no idea who this man was, yet he recognized me even when I was wearing a yellow mask??

“Yes, that’s my name.  And what is yours?”

He told me his name, then continued.  “I want you to know I am sorry, truly sorry,” he said in a very measured and thoughtful manner.  “I did something that offended you.  I didn’t mean to, but I did.  And I am sorry.”

He went on to describe an online interaction between the two of us that must’ve happened 2 or 3 years ago.  He had asked me a question, I had taken issue with what he wrote or how he wrote it, and I went off on him.

I could not remember the incident he was talking about, but it obviously happened because he clearly recalled every little nuance of it.

“Oh my, I am sorry!  You must’ve caught me on a bad day…” I stammered.

“No, no.  You were very offended.  I shouldn’t have said it how I did, and I am genuinely sorry.  You blocked me after that I think, because I couldn’t see your page anymore.  But I had looked at it, I saw everything you do for the community.  Then I knew what you looked like.  That’s how I recognized you tonight.”

I had blocked him!  I don’t do that often, usually just for catfish spam-type accounts that contact me.  Whatever he said (that I do not remember) must’ve really hit a nerve with me.

“I accept your apology.  And I am sorry, too.  Thank you.  Thank you for speaking with me tonight and telling me this,” I said as I put my hand out to shake his.

I was impressed with his bravery.  I don’t think I would ever have spoken up had the situation been reversed. 

The doctor was coming into my friend’s room so I excused myself to go back.  Blue Bike Man failed the cognitive test miserably (didn’t know where he was, didn’t know the month or the year (though the month and the year are trick questions if you ask me – why should someone living on the street know or care what month it is??).  I explained to the doctor that I was just a neighbor, a friend, who didn’t know anything about this man’s medical history.  All I knew was – he was living on the street, we tried to get him into a shelter recently and failed, and he needed (in my opinion) to be in a supportive atmosphere for memory care patients. 

The doctor agreed that a shelter was the wrong environment and said she would try to get a case manager to come down and speak with him to see if perhaps they could find a better placement.

Only, it was Sunday night, and there were no case managers to be found.  So, after 5 ½ hours at the ER with my buddy, I left him finally lying down and sleeping in the bed (with a pillow and blanket, luxuries).  He wore a hospital gown, but under that had on not one but two pairs of jeans, old, dirty wool socks, and tennis shoes with the beginnings of holes in them.  All while he slept.  But hey – you live on the street, you are used to sleeping without pajamas, right?

My partner David went up to the ER this morning at 8 am to sit and wait for the case manager (we had been told she would likely come between 8:00 and 10:00 am).  I had to work today and was so grateful that David was willing to go up and advocate for our friend.

Throughout this whole experience I keep thinking about my own family values.  In my family, when someone is sick (especially sick enough to go to the hospital!), they are not alone.  Family gathers.  If visitation is limited, we rotate in and out of the room.  But a family member is not left alone in the ER.

But Blue Bike Man had no one.  Not that he was sad about that mind you – I don’t think he knows the difference really.  But I was sad about it.  I think he deserves better.

We learned some new things about our friend during this hospitalization – turns out someone is his legal guardian. 

And learning that fact made me angry.  Because that is where my false assumptions came in… 

“How can you be this old man’s guardian and not take care of him??  Leave him on the street, with no food???” I thought, judging whoever was responsible very harshly.

When I stepped back and tried to consider the situation, I knew that my assumptions could be way off base.  Maybe Blue Bike Man was actually an abusive father.  Maybe he had sucked the family dry of money.  Maybe the family had tried over and over and over and had come to their wits end…

There were options that could explain it all, but in my mind I still silently judged.

There were glimmers of hope – the case manager may have found a place that would accept him! 

And flashes of rage – the people listed as contacts in his medical chart wouldn’t even pick up the phone when the hospital called.

The message I got from David was that they had found a memory care place in Richmond, VA that would take him.  I was relieved!!  He would have a bed.  And a shower.  And meals.  And medication if he needed it.

Then David called with more news:  the person listed as legal guardian had called the hospital back and said NO to the Richmond placement.

I was so sad.  Would they rather see him on the street than housed??  How could they do that??  The case manager said that the guardian was coming to the hospital to pick Blue Bike Man up, so David could go home now.  

So many thoughts rushed through my head…  What if the person abused him?  What if they took advantage of him somehow?  What if they injured him??  He couldn’t stand up for himself.

We decided to go back to the hospital to meet the guardian (who I had secretly made out to be a villain in my mind).  We would say goodbye to our friend, hopefully get the contact info for the guardian, and explain that she should come to our house to get his bike.

As we waited, the 3 of us we chatted and laughed.  Blue Bike Man ate more hospital food (he packed a lot of food in during his 24 hour stay!!).  And then finally, the woman I had decided was a bad person before meeting her stepped into the room.

And she was quiet.  And soft.  And looked at our friend and said, “Do you know who I am??”. 

There was a glimmer in his eye.  He DID seem to recognize her!!  He couldn’t put a name to her face, but he did seem to remember her somehow.

She spoke of her father, who grew up with our friend and was one of his best buddies.  Oh, Blue Bike man smiled at that!  Yes, he remembered that man.  “I am his daughter,” the guardian explained.

And as we heard more, everything fell into place.  Her not answering the hospital’s calls – made perfect sense.  Her not wanting him to go to Richmond – understandable. 

And she was willing to take him into her small apartment, even though others around her warned her not to and that it would be unsafe…  It was obviously a heart wrenching choice for her, but she had promised someone important to her that she would take care of Blue Bike Man, and she was trying to keep her word.

In the end, we understand the situation better now.  It is not resolved – our friend will very likely be back out on the street soon.  And, as I recounted to the guardian what the case manager had said, people like our friend will likely do better on the street.  He would be miserable in a care facility.

I gave the guardian a big hug and told her that if he ends up back on the streets, it will not be because she didn’t try.  And it will not be because she failed.  And that she needs to take care of herself and her family, too.

She got tears in her eyes.  She realized the complexity of what she was taking on (this was not her first time housing him).  She gave us her phone number and I sent her a text telling her where his bike is so that she has our contact info, too.

I hope we get to see him again.  Maybe he will show up one day and peek in the Little Yellow Free Pantry to see if there is a fruit cup waiting for him.  If we see him, I will rush out and give him his bike back.  He might not remember me, but I bet he remembers that blue bike.

Oh, I said this was also a story of perfect timing.

In the midst of all of this sadness and stress, look what I found on our front porch today…

With this sweet note.

The neighbor who dropped this gift off didn’t know what I was going through.  She just had perfect timing.  This was what I needed tonight: a living room scented with lilacs and the reminder that even the tiniest things can make a huge difference.

A Hot Meal (But No Bed)

Was it how I PLANNED to spend a chunk of my Wednesday evening??  Well…  No, not really.

And yet – here I am smiling and glad that I did.

I finished work today and as I opened the front door to go out and get some sunshine and fresh air, I saw my friend, the pantry guest who cries so easily and “knew my mother” (in his mind, though in my reality the two of them could never, ever have been in the same place at the same time).  I rushed out to greet him – had to hurry as he was walking his sky blue bicycle away from our house (having already stopped by the Little Yellow Pantry to pick up some food).

I hollered his name and said, “Come on back – have a seat on the steps.  I will make you a hot dinner!  You hungry??”. 

I have been working on how I speak to him.  In our interactions, I have come to realize that my “need to be polite” leads to me asking a lot of questions.  And questions are something that my friend cannot handle.  Even what seem like a simple question – “Hey there!  Which would you to eat tonight – chicken noodle soup or chili with beans??” presents an overwhelming choice for him.  So, this evening I carefully just put it out there – dinner would be served soon, come sit (though I fell back into my old questioning habit with, “Are you hungry??”.  That damn midwestern female need to be polite…)

I rushed inside carrying a pantry donation that had just been unpacked from one of five or six huge Amazon boxes that got delivered today:  a Velveeta cheesy chicken alfredo dish.  I bunged it in the microwave (“bung” is a term of art that only refers to microwave cooking, isn’t it?  I like it) and ran downstairs to the pantry storage area to get his favorite – a fruit cup – and a Gatorade (courtesy of the amazing mystery donor who is so, so, so supportive of the pantry).

When the food was hot I went out to deliver it and sit with my friend as he ate.  He deemed the meal “very good”, and I bragged about my excellent cooking skills. 

He and I had a meal like this yesterday, too.  Same location:  our front steps.  Different main course:  hot vegetable beef soup.  Same dessert:  fruit cup.  And same conversation – about how “things are different” now, about how he “has he had a car…”  The same conversations we have each time.  And when I chime in a point that I know about his stories, one he hasn’t gotten to yet, he looks at me with sheer confusion and said, “How did you know that???”.  Ahhh sir, because you have told me this story 300 times…

His friendship has taken on more of a sense of urgency lately, as I have learned that he is unhoused…  He told me when we first met (when I asked “where are you staying?”) that he was sleeping at a friend’s house.  It seemed factual, not like one of the confusing statements that he makes.  I was relieved to know that even though he seems to wander the community all day on his blue bicycle, at least he had a couch somewhere to sleep on (and a blanket, I hoped).  But a different friend told me the other day that she really thought he was homeless.  I begged to differ (I wanted it not to be true), but have driven by the little spot where he snuggles in for the night 3 or 4 times now and he is there every time.

Tonight he and I had a long conversation.  We talked about the usual stuff, and we even got to laughing.  He remembered some new details tonight!  He remembered that his father worked in a store in DC, and that if someone got caught stealing from that store, the security guards beat them up.  He has mentioned his father before, but never his mother.  So I broke my rule of not asking questions and said, “Hey, do you remember your mother??”.  That stumped him.  He thought and thought and couldn’t for the life of him recall his mother.  (Odd, isn’t it?  His memory can serve up images of my mother quick as you please, but ask about his own mother and he draws a blank).  “Maybe she died when you were young, and that’s why you don’t remember her,” I offered. 

He talked again about how he used to sleep in the basement of this house, the one we call The Big Yellow House.  He was stumped by that…  “Your mother…  Why?  Why did your mother???”…  He had us both laughing at one point when he decided that the reason he knew my mother was because she sold him marijuana.  “What????” I guffawed, “MY MOTHER SOLD YOU MARIJUANA???  I don’t think so!!”.  “Well, it wasn’t COCAINE…” he stated. 

At one point he lifted his pant leg to scratch, and I saw that he had a lead from the hospital stuck to his ankle.  “You have been in the hospital!!” I declared.  It felt like I was solving a mystery.  Only, the it was a mystery to us both, as he had no memory of being in the hospital.  Well, he DID tell me the story (again…) about how he was in THREE HOSPITALS, and he doesn’t know HOW he got there but he didn’t like it.  “Well yes, you were in three hospitals.  But that was a long time ago (I have pieced that together from his stories).  THIS hospital visit was recent – look – you still have the thing stuck to your ankle!!”.  Nope.  That rang no bells.  No recollection at all about having had a hospital visit recently.

Empty fruit cup, and the hospital lead I convinced him to peel off 

I explained to him tonight that I think he is not staying with a friend at night but is sleeping outdoors.  He wasn’t sure about that…  “Well, where are you staying?” I asked.  “I don’t really know…”. 

And I believe him.  He doesn’t really know.  I don’t think he is lying. When he told me he was spending the night at a friend’s a few months ago, he thought that was true (and maybe it was at the time…).  But now, now he is definitely on the street.  But isn’t it a strange trick of the mind that I know that fact but he, the person who it is actually happening to, doesn’t?

I talked with him about the local shelter and played up how nice it would be:  a bed!  A shower!  Hot meals!!  He seemed to think it sounded like a good idea, too, and asked if I could call them.  I did call but it was after hours and the staff couldn’t answer my questions of how to get him a bed.

So here is our plan:  I will call the shelter tomorrow.  I will try and understand the system and how he might fit into it.  And for his part?  He agreed to come back tomorrow after I have the information.  “What time??” he asked me 6 or 7 times.  We agreed on “oh – around 2:00 pm”.

Will he remember to come?  I rather doubt it.  But I will have the information and we will take it from there.