On Helping

I was walking home from work last Saturday evening when I heard a woman’s voice calling out down the sidewalk. With tears streaming down her face, she was standing by the road waving her arms and yelling at passing cars, “Help! Help! Why won’t anyone help me?!” It was getting dark and snowing heavily- no one was stopping.

I walked towards her, admittedly a little nervous. When I reached her, she collapsed into sobs in my arms, continuing to cry, “Why won’t anyone help me?!” As I talked with “Dawn”, it came out that she had missed two days of methadone treatments, and was in a lot of withdrawal pain. As well, one of her feet was extremely swollen, and an earlier stroke had affected a lot of her physical movements.

Dawn told me that when she went to the hospital to see about her foot and about getting methadone, she was told she was going to have to wait and shouldn’t come to the hospital when she was high. She left after waiting for four hours, but when she tried to go back to her apartment, her methadone withdrawal symptoms made her neighbours lock her out after accusing her of “being a druggie”.

As Dawn wandered the streets in pain and frustration, she began to yell at passing traffic to stop and help her. By the time I found her, Dawn was utterly convinced that everyone passing by just thought she was a “dirty hooker drug addict”, and that’s why they wouldn’t stop. As we stood in the snow, Dawn’s pain was palpable as told me how hard it is to change- she didn’t work the streets anymore and was getting off drugs, but still no one seemed to believe she was anything but a “worthless crackhead”. She asked me how she was supposed to believe in herself if no one else seemed to. Her own self-worth had taken another huge blow from all her negative experiences that day- they had reinforced her belief that she would never really be able to make a difference in her own life, that no one wanted to help her.

I asked Dawn what help she wanted- did she want me to call an ambulance? Give her a bus ticket? Walk with her back to her apartment? It turns out she didn’t want any of those things- I think she had been yelling for help in the deepest sense: “Help me to believe in myself. Help me to change. Help me find hope.”

Dawn has challenged me to consider more fully what we mean when we say we want to “help” people affected by poverty- I'm realizing it is sometimes easier, and so much more complicated, then we think.

See You In the Neighborhood

Last week I met a handful of families, couples and singles who have to vacate their homes by December 15. The issue is mold, and a property owner who can’t or won’t take steps to properly fix the mold. I stood in the hallways of this building for a few hours with folks from a few other agencies and knocked on doors with a health and safety representative. They gave bad news, we gave good news. As agencies we were there to help, to tell people that we can offer support over the next few weeks as they hurry to find another place to live before Christmas. I have to say, I had mixed feelings about offering this good news. I was certainly happy that we (and these other agencies) can step in to help, but I also wonder how their community can respond. Sometimes, it seems, we rely too much on a systematic response and we don’t offer a human response. When can we (as communities and individuals) step in and help someone in need?

I need to make a confession. I don’t know many of my neighbors. I live in a condominium community in the SW of Calgary; my complex is set up as stacked townhouses, which means I have quite a few neighbors. In fact my garage is surrounded by about 9 other garages. I bought my house about a year ago and the couple who lives above me has lived there for about 6 months. Last week was the first time I’ve ever spoke to the neighbor that I have been parking next to for all that time. Her name is June and she is a lovely person. I’ve been missing out on the opportunity to know her for months now, and it seems like they might just be the type of people I’d want to know when I lock myself out of my house (which has happened 3 times now…) or when I need to complain about the condo board or need to borrow sugar… although more often I run out of olive oil. And perhaps I’m just the type of person that has something to offer them as well!

For me, these two thoughts are connected because I realized that I’m not making myself available to my own neighbors. If there is a senior citizen or new Canadian across the street at risk of losing their housing merely because of a language or technology barrier (a common reality), I can help! But, alas I haven’t met them, I don’t know them and they don’t know me. So I have a challenge for myself: to start making myself available to my neighbors. After all, perhaps there is some way I can offer support and justice to my neighbor, and perhaps a neighbor has something to offer me.


Peace