We often judge people we don’t know. Without knowing their stories, we allow our stereotypes or fears to influence our judgement.
Earlier this month I had the pleasure of presenting at the Social Justice Conference in Maple Ridge. I had 90 minutes to spend with teens from Maple Ridge and Pitt Meadows, ranging in age from 13-18. Continue reading
In keeping with Christmas tradition, friends and I got together last weekend and headed downtown to celebrate the season. The temperature was near freezing, so we bundled up in toques, scarves and gloves and braved the crisp air, full of anticipation for a great winter day. As we arrived to one of my favourite spots in Vancouver, it seemed others had the same idea. School buses and tour buses lined the streets, parking was scarce, and children hollered with joy as their parents followed with cameras flashing and video cameras rolling. The main attractions grew such crowds that pedestrians spilled out into the streets. But here’s the thing. I wasn’t at a popular holiday venue. I was standing at the corner of Main and Hastings on the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver.
We live in a remarkable city, overflowing with caring compassionate people who want to make a difference at Christmas. We often think of those with less than us, and on first thought, it seems like a great idea to head to Vancouver’s poorest neighbourhood and offer food and clothing. And I know from first hand conversations that the residents of this neighbourhood do appreciate items they receive. In no way to I want to criticize the good intention of Vancouverites. However I feel a bit compelled to offer some advice on how to help. This Christmas marks our fifth year working in the Downtown Eastside helping the homeless send cards to family or friends they have lost touch with. Throughout this journey, I have learned a few things about the community that I hope to share. If you would like to help the residents of the Downtown Eastside, I applaud you. It is a neighbourhood rich in story, hardship and heartbreak. It is also a neighbourhood full of courage, resiliency and glimmers of hope. If you choose to visit, with good intention, please take the following tips into consideration:
1. Give appropriate gifts using the same logic you use when you gift the ones you love. Your mother is probably not looking for a size XL man’s jacket. Your brother is not likely searching for a pink polk-a-dotted lady’s scarf. It is very common to collect warm clothing and distribute it on Hastings Street. However, if the gift is not suitable, it will likely be sold. Take the time to pull a fitting item out of the bag and make eye contact when you offer it to the person on the street. They are much more likely to use it when it is suitable and received with love.
2. Take time. Take the time to give items out one by one. Last weekend I watched a group of do-gooders pull up in a bakery style truck. Rather than displaying their items or handing them out to suitable recipients, they stood in the truck bed and threw items in the air. As they did this, a crowd surrounded the truck. With each toss, the homeless scrambled with their arms in the air hoping to catch the item. It reminded me of a scene from the zoo where the trainer feeds the animals. Unfortunately the image is burned in my brain – and the only thing that makes it worse was the large video camera filming the episode to capture the act of kindness on film.
3. Respect the neighbourhood. Remember that you are a guest in another community. Respect the space. Don’t overcrowd the sidewalks. Do not take photos of anyone without first asking permission. Be polite. Be respectful. Make eye contact and say hello. Park on side streets rather than unloading buses on Hastings. Walk in groups of 4-6 rather than groups of 40. Treat the residents like you would want to be treated in your neighbourhood.
4. Use your judgement. The Downtown Eastside is a diverse neighbourhood – and not everyone on the street is homeless. Some are employees of the local businesses, others live in trendy lofts popping up in the area yet many are homeless or live in low income housing. For the most part, if you take the time, you can see the difference. Take time to see people before handing out goods. Unfortunately there is a new disturbing trend emerging as the streets clutter with donations. A few of the local merchants from Chinatown walk the streets with shopping buggies and gather as many items as they can to sell at their shops around the corner on Keefer Street. They will often ask for the full 12 packs of socks, or multiple quantities of what you are providing. Today, I witnessed this with my own eyes. As I tried to drop off toiletries at the women’s centre, a group of women from Chinatown came in with bags and literally stole dozens of boxes of toothpaste and shampoo and ran. The shelter employees explained this is increasingly common. Some run to their shops to resell the product, while others use a storage locker in the community to store their collections. As San Francisco recently coined a similar problem – there seems to be a battle between the needy and the greedy. If they appear well dressed, well fed, and they are looking for items to re-sell, perhaps you may want to identify someone with greater need.
5. Consider Another Time of Year. Christmas is a wonderful time to give, and there are many ways to help in our community. However, if you would like to help the homeless by distributing food, blankets or clothing, I would suggests you choose November, January of February instead. It is just as cold, and the residents do not receive as much during these months.
6.Volunteer Your Time. Many shelters or associations need volunteers to help serve meals or prepare dinners. Contact associations directly to see how you can help.
7. Find out what people need. Remember the last time you received a gift you would never use? It was most likely given to you by someone with good intention. The same thing happens on the DTES. For example, group after group provide hot chocolate or coffee assuming people are cold and would love this. What I often hear is that they are dehydrated and would love to have clean drinking water. Take the time to ask people what they need but don’t usually receive. When I have asked this question I have received the following suggestions: bananas, meat or any type of protein, water and towels. However, many have told me that what they really crave but seldom receive is the simple art of conversation. Engage in heartfelt dialogue. Be sincere. From one human to another, wish them a very Merry Christmas.
Thank you for making a difference. Happy Holidays!
If you drive down East Hastings Street on an ordinary day, you can look out your car window and see the faces of people who have lost their purpose: lost souls, who have traded away hope in exchange for darkness. Today was different. East Hastings was alive, and purpose was abundant. As we arrived just after 12:30 PM, the streets were flooded with activity. Church groups handed out meals, the local bottle depot managed the crowds awaiting payment, movie extra’s roamed the streets as a back drop for a new film and the Downtown Eastside Sunday Street Market was in full swing. It seemed everyone had a purpose, or at least something to occupy their time.
I too had a purpose, yet today was different than previous months. Today my plan was to make not one, but two new friends. You see, usually I travel to the Downtown Eastside with family, friends or students and invite residents of the Downtown Eastside community to participate in Project HELLO or Beyond HELLO. I then share the stories through my blog. Last month, a lady named Donna contacted me after reading my blog post through a link a mutual friend had shared. She asked if I would go ‘Beyond HELLO’. She would pay for lunch, in exchange for the opportunity to have conversation – with each other – and hopefully with someone living in the Downtown Eastside. I agreed.
As Donna and I drove, we went ‘Beyond HELLO’. We talked about family, health, spirituality, intuition and our life experiences. The conversation went well beyond the surface level conversations that usually occur when you first meet someone. Instead we spoke about connections that exist between all people and the opportunities we have to act in ways of significance. We spoke of the importance of listening to our inner voices, and taking time to Be. By the time we reached the Downtown Eastside, we had formed a connection based on mutual respect and understanding.
As we searched for a parking spot, I spotted Sandra Bonneau, the woman who I believe is the heart of the Downtown Eastside. She has survived the streets for over 20 years, has struggled with addiction, abuse and health complications yet her spirit shines. Like always, she greeted me with her toothless smile and sparkling eyes. She was excited to hear that the group of high school students who found her daughter for her five years ago would all be in town for Christmas. I let her know that they would be back from university and wanted to wish her a happy birthday on December 22nd. We agreed to meet up and I offered to bring a birthday cake. I asked if there was anything she needed as a birthday gift. She replied saying ‘just your presence’. I smiled and offered her lunch. She smiled back, knowing others needed our offer more than she did, so she politely declined and we parted ways.
We wandered through the street market, marvelling at the collection of stolen goods being sold in an open market place. We considered offering lunch to some of the men who passed by with their life’s belongings in shopping carts – but we didn’t – as we both knew they would refuse. Leaving their carts unattended would be too substantial a risk in this neighbourhood. We wandered back up Hastings and offered lunch to a few others who looked like they could use a meal. Each refused. At one point Donna wondered if perhaps today was just about the two of us going ‘Beyond HELLO’. It felt as though it was. We decided to stand at a busy corner on Hastings and let others approach us. Being still in their neighbourhood seems to be a less invasive approach. Within minutes we had a lady hoping to help me find Garth (Beyond HELLO – August) and another woman in a wheel chair who recognized me and wanted to let me know about her daughter and the special visit she had with her grandson. To be honest, I didn’t recognize her. Have we helped her before? I’m not sure. She thought so, so I stopped and we had a nice chat. As we began to wonder if anyone wanted lunch, a lady passed by approaching the crosswalk. Her hair was tangled and slept on, her clothing reflected warmth more than style, and her eyes were guarded. Our eyes met for a second, like she was scanning the neighbourhood to make sure it was safe. She walked by, but then, turned back and looked at us over her shoulder. I don’t remember who spoke first, but I know her eyes changed, and she looked at us with curiosity and perhaps trust. We asked if she was hungry. She said yes – in fact that’s why she was out from her BC Housing shelter. She was hoping to find a warm meal. Together the three of us walked towards the Save On Meats diner.
As we walked towards the diner, we walked like three friends. Shelley introduced herself and made sure she learned our names quickly. As we entered the diner, she commented on how nice it was – and mentioned it might be a nice spot to bring her boyfriend for his birthday on New Year’s Eve.
As we approached the counter – the waitress explained that we could take an order form and create our own breakfast meal, salad, sandwich or burger. Shelley suggested we take the forms to the table to sit down together and then decide. Not wanting to ask if she was literate, I read the menu choices out loud and together we discussed what we should eat.
Shelley thought about a sandwich – and referenced her need to be healthy – briefly reflecting on her time years ago when she worked as an aerobics instructor in Toronto. She thought a sandwich would be nice – but when I started to ask her about the different bread options or toppings you could see the decision was too overwhelming. Between her addiction to crack, methadone use and recovery from being struck by a van last year, she struggles to stay with one thought for more than a minute at a time. Through our conversation you could see her eyes literally fade in and out of awareness. In some moments it looked as if she needed to sleep – in others she was alive, present and willing to share with us. Perhaps because of the perplexity of the order form, or perhaps because the smell of burgers and fries surrounded us, Shelley changed her mind from the sandwich form and said she would rather have a burger and fries. Donna agreed and ordered the same. Shelley asked if I would have a burger too. I explained that I needed to order a salad as I am 1/2 way through a 12 day cleanse with a friend at work therefore I cannot eat burgers or fries. As the words left my mouth I recognized how shallow it seemed – here I was – explaining to a lady who searches the streets for food – why I am only eating certain foods to detoxify my body. And yet I also felt it was human to share. She smiled and I laughed and said “it’s crazy – the things women will do!” She agreed and let me know she would put the ketchup and mustard on her burger herself. She then winked and said that was one of her secrets for staying thin.
The waitress arrived with coffee. Shelley’s cup had an inch of space at the top for cream or sugar. Shelley let the sugar pour. Intentionally – enough that the cup started to overfill. She mumbled about the cup being too full and stirred her new concoction – 3/4 coffee, 1/4 sugar. As she tried to steady her shaking hand the coffee spilled. Donna and I wiped it up as she drank – and eventually helped by pouring some out into a water glass.
Shelley shared her life story – growing up with a military police father – where she was never sure if she should get closer or further away. She didn’t connect with her mom and ran away from home a couple times but was always welcome back by her dad. Her mom decided to grow distant from her father while she decided to get closer. When her dad died from cancer twenty five years ago she was devastated and turned to crack. As a server in bars, she made her way across the country eventually finding her way to the Downtown Eastside. She fell in love but lost her partner to cancer as well. Yet – despite the drug addiction and pain she continually referenced her mantra of staying positive and not looking back. I asked what that was about – she answered with clarity. For Shelley it was about god – and staying true to her faith. She then turned to us with certainty and said – you need to remember you are not where you are at just because of him – promise me you will give yourself credit too. We smiled.
Shelley ate her burger and fries with urgency. Between bites she would pause for a split second and ask what else we would like to know. She had questions about her current relationship and wanted our advice. Her boyfriend wants her to move in with her – and has even discussed marriage – but something is holding her back. When I asked if he was the one she laughed. Donna asked if he was the one for now – and she smiled saying he was a good man who really loved her. She talked about her own behaviours, commenting that many would leave – but he chooses to stay. She then took time to ask us if we were married and how me met our spouses. Fading in and out of conversation, Shelley seemed to be hit with a burst of consciousness – and she raised her coffee cup in the air and offered a toast “to happiness, Christmas, and meeting new people.” Together we clanked our glasses, smiled and enjoyed each others company.
I ended with a usual question, asking Shelley what she wanted others to know about the Downtown Eastside neighbourhood. She answered with this: “It’s changing. And what it’s missing is a place to talk. A place to clear your head and talk through problems. A place to feel safe and have real conversations.” We smiled knowing exactly what she was trying to say.
As Shelley stood up to leave, she turned back and asked each of us for a hug. We then had a group photo and promised to send a copy in the mail. Shelley left to meet up with her boyfriend, Donna and I drove home, all of us knowing we had just gone Beyond HELLO and experienced a Sunday with purpose.
Last week, our school principal, Sean Nosek, joined me in Beyond HELLO. Today, he posted his own reflection on his blog describing what it was like to go beyond HELLO and take a resident of the Downtown Eastside out for lunch.
Here is his powerful story: Light: Inside Beyond HELLO
In Aboriginal culture, it is a common belief that storytelling is the best way to teach children, pass on legends and strengthen relationships and family. On the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, over thirty percent of people struggling with homelessness and addiction are Aboriginal. Yet, we fail to use storytelling to help them heal. So often we offer food, clothing and shelter to meet their basic needs. We forget about the emotional needs. Recently on Facebook, a news story went viral. It spoke of two states in the USA that have decided to stop issuing welfare cheques to anyone failing a drug test. Some friends of mine hit the ‘like button’. And you know what? I don’t blame them. I get it. Why should we as a society pay tax dollars to give money to someone who will spend it on drugs. They must be making a choice right? I understand the frustration. Yet, I wonder, if these friends of mine would hit the ‘like’ button if they understood a little more about addiction. If we choose to look deeper, we can see that the drugs are not the problem. They are merely an inadequate solution – to a problem that lies deeper – the problem that we really should address. What I know from working on the Downtown Eastside is this. Not everybody is homeless, not everybody is an addict, not everybody is sick – but everybody is in pain. The pain began in a variety of ways. For some it began as childhood trauma, for others it stems from abuse (sexual, physical or emotional). Some grew up in ministry care while others were mistreated at residential schools. Each person has a different story, but what I know from my work over the past five years is that every person living on the streets of the Downtown Eastside feels the pain. They are not there for the drugs. They are there for the escape from their reality, and for many, each hit offers temporary pain relief. They are lonely, they are lost, but they are human, and they matter. And each of them has a story to tell; a story worth sharing, so we on the outside can understand.
If we truly want to help an individual break the cycle of addiction, then my belief is that we have to change the way we respond. We need to go ‘Beyond HELLO’ – beyond the basic needs, and start to address the emotional needs. Just as Aboriginal Culture suggest, storytelling is a powerful way to teach, to heal and to learn. It empowers the storyteller to find their voice and it captures the listener and leaves them a little different than they were before the story began. I know these stories have changed me. I hope they change you too.
Month 3 of Beyond HELLO Vancouver – Cynthia’s Flower Shop
It’s now 10 PM and I sit here typing, smiling at the way today’s events unfolded. I am so grateful to my students who help make this project a reality, and to the residents of the Downtown Eastside, who time after time, allow themselves to show courage and vulnerability as they share their stories with us. Today was no different – yet it had a different beginning. Usually with ‘Beyond HELLO Vancouver’ we journey to the DTES and take someone for lunch. Later I sit and type out their story. However, just before I left my home, I felt ready to write. This didn’t really make much sense as the experience had yet to begin and I was already running late to pick up Anoop, the student who would join me for the day. However, the need was there and I felt I had to get my thoughts down. Rather than writing, I used the recording feature on my phone and recorded myself talking. I recited the paragraphs above that you just read. Interesting, because at the time, I had no idea whether or not the story we would hear today would have anything to do with Aboriginal culture or storytelling. Sitting here now writing this, I’m smiling, knowing what I have always known about this project. It is bigger than me. It is not something I create – but something that seems to unfold. I love that this happens to me, and that I am there to experience it. Today’s story is about Cynthia, a strong, beautiful Aboriginal woman who offers light and warmth to the Downtown Eastside. With her permission, here is my interpretation of today’s events and her life story.
Around noon, I picked up my former student Anoop and headed to the Downtown Eastside. Anoop asked how we would pick the one person to join us for lunch. I smiled and explained that we don’t really pick – we let someone find us. I let Anoop know we would walk the streets and say hello to people and when we felt like it was the right person, we would ask them to join us for lunch. We walked up and down Hastings Street for five to ten minutes. We smiled in recognition to many – many we remember from Christmas’s past where they have written to loved ones with Project HELLO. ‘Steven King’ stood guarding his community garden. Behind him, a sign attached to the fence read ‘drug free area’ yet attached to the sign is a pocket tray of clean needles. Not a surprise – as images of contrast are everywhere on Hastings Street. Fancy cars driving by people with their life’s belongings in shopping carts, yuppie condos built next to shelters, and so many speckles of beauty scattered amongst the dark streets. As we passed the community garden we saw a barefoot woman, rocking back and forth, leaning on a shopping cart for support. Her hair was orange and buzz cut, she appeared in pain but high on drugs, yet at the same time, intently focused on the last few pages of a book that she balanced on the shopping cart. As I walked by I glanced down to see what she was reading. Pride and Prejudice. A long and difficult read for a neighborhood where many have only an elementary school education. I smiled and walked on, unfortunately not knowing until later, that the woman was Cindy – the woman who we reconnected with her daughter in our first month of Beyond HELLO. I did not recognize her with out her long beautiful hair. However, knowing Cindy’s boisterous personality with wild, ever-changing emotions, I could not help but smile knowing her drastic change in hair style was likely a spontaneous decision.
As we approached the ‘mall’ which is the roughest block of Hastings (on the North Side between Columbia and Carrall) we passed a lady who I recognized from July. In month one, this woman had walked passed David and I on the south side of Hastings. She made a comment to us saying something like “be careful down here – there’s a full moon and they are crazy today!” We smiled and explained a bit about our project. She beamed with motherly pride as we shared our work. We showed her a picture of Cindy and she agreed to take our phone number down in case she saw Cindy before us. We didn’t have a spare pen so we went with her to the Pigeon Community Bank to use a notepad and pen. In our talks she told us she used to be called Cindy as well. Both Cindy and Cindy had gone through re-hab together years ago. This Cindy had stayed clean. Deciding that she was moving forward with her life – she left ‘Cindy’ behind – and became Cynthia. Today as we ran into Cynthia, she recognized me but couldn’t quite remember where from. I reminded her about the help she had offered. Again she beamed with pride for our work. I asked if she knew if Cindy was still alive. She then told me I had just passed her – as she was the one with the orange buzz cut. She let me know Cindy is not doing well as her leg is very infected yet she now refuses to wear shoes as she walks Hastings. A part of me wanted to run back and say hi, yet a part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was, intrigued by Cynthia’s strength and wanting to know more about her own journey and her resilience to battle through life’s most difficult hurdles. I asked if she would like to share her story with us over lunch. In a split second, she eagerly agreed and together Anoop, Cynthia and I walked down the street planning on dining at Save On Meats.
As we approached, we saw that Save On Meats was boarded up, closed for renovations. However, next to it, a newer restaurant was open. It is called ‘Lost and Found’ café. The name alone seemed like a natural fit for our project, so we entered the café. Inside we discovered a café celebrating world travel, art and philanthropy. One wall displayed black and white portraits of the DTES amongst images of other hardships around the world. The centre of the restaurant offered a variety of gifts, all backed by a big sign saying ‘Have a Heart’ – with proceeds from all items going to charitable organizations. Cynthia, Anoop and I ordered lunch and found a table near the window. A table where looking one direction showed images of Hastings Street, yet looking the other way offered the cozy sanctuary of a modern café.
Our lunch arrived and Cynthia began to share her story.
Cynthia is a citizen of the To-quaht Band, one of the smallest First Nations, situated between Ucluelet and Port Alberni. She grew up in Port Alberni on the reserve, with few restrictions. As she recalls, you could drink and party at any age. By grade six, she was drinking alcohol and stopped attending school. Her mother would come in and out of her life, but spent most of her time in Seattle. Her father worked in logging so he was not able to be around much. Her mother’s parents served in a parental role raising Cynthia and her siblings. Cynthia and her grandmother had a special bond. Even though there were eight children in the house, her grandmother would always wake up Cynthia in the middle of the night when she had a special story to share. She would put on her kettle, make some tea and wake Cynthia saying “I don’t like sitting alone – let me tell you a story”. Cynthia relished these moments and would awake from deep sleeps to hear her grandmother’s stories: stories her grandmother passed down from her own childhood. I smiled and told Cynthia a little about my grandparents and the special memories I have spending time with them. I understand completely the bond she speaks of. Cynthia also shared a story of a dream she had one night as a child – a dream that one day she would have her own flower shop. Cynthia found comfort in the images of such a dream.
Cynthia’s grandfather on her father’s side was Chief in Ucluelet and therefore some of Cynthia’s childhood was marked with ceremonial tradition. When she entered womanhood at age twelve her band celebrated that very day with a ‘Coming of Age’ party. Her brothers dressed in wolf regalia and were instructed to be next to her – two on her left and two on her right. They had to follow her for the day and sit together at the community hall. Cynthia remembers this as a powerful experience yet also a challenging day for a twelve-year-old to endure when really she wanted to run and play.
Unfortunately these days did not last. After her grandpa on her mother’s side died, the ministry stepped in and found new homes for Cynthia and her siblings. Some went to live with aunts, while Cynthia and one of her sisters were put into foster care in Cumberland BC. They were placed with a Caucasian family who treated them well and had strong religious values. After about four months of living with them, the family let the girls know they were going to make a drive to Port Alberni to return bottles at the bottle depot. They asked the girls if they would like to accompany them and visit their relatives in Port Alberni. The girls agreed and travelled to the reserve to visit. Once arriving, her friend Danny’s family hid the girls so they never returned into foster care. This left Cynthia experiencing a range of emotion. Why did the ministry need to find her a new home in the first place? Why was it so easy to escape? Why didn’t she ever hear from her foster family again? As Cynthia struggled to find answers, she found comfort in a relationship with her friend Danny. When she turned 16, her father asked her and Danny to come for dinner. During dinner he let her know it was time for her to get married. She was married to Danny for six years, yet by age 22 she needed to escape the cycle of drinking and abuse. She recalls one evening when Danny dragged her out of a community dance by pulling her hair. Danny’s older brother stepped in and beat Danny threatening to hurt him again if he ever beat his wife. Ironically Danny’s brother had also been beating his wife, however, when he saw his younger brother repeat the cycle it helped him stop his own violence. At 22 Cynthia knew she needed to leave the reserve to feel safe. Danny and her had two children but Cynthia was raising them on her own. When Danny returned to town she let him know it was his turn and she needed to take care of herself. She headed to East Vancouver, following the path of her thirteen year old sister.
When Cynthia arrived in East Vancouver (29 years ago) she played a motherly role to her younger sister who was actively using drugs. Cynthia was determined to stay clean and managed to do so for two years. One evening, Cynthia and her boyfriend went for drinks with another couple. The other couple offered them T’s and R’s (T’s and R’s are also referred to as poor man’s heroin. The T stands for Talwin, a painkiller, and the R for Ritalin, a stimulant. When injected together they produce a high similar to the effects of cocaine mixed with heroin). To Cynthia’s surprise her boyfriend said yes, letting her know for the first time that he had used in the past. Wanting to know what her sister experienced, Cynthia decided to try her first hit. The experience made her incredibly sick yet she recalls waking up the next day feeling like her mind had taken over her body and she wanted more. Her sister prostituted to earn money to buy drugs and pay her rent. Eventually her sister and the sister’s boyfriend told Cindy she needed to start contributing. She needed to pay money too. Her sister convinced her to turn her first trick and work the corner. Craving the high of T’s and R’s Cynthia decided to work the corner once to get the money she needed. Today, 29 years later Cynthia’s eyes watered as she tells us about her very first night working the street. She had never felt so much shame. Despite the money she earned she remembers bypassing the drugs and coming home to the bath washing herself and drowning herself in tears. Her need to feel clean surpassed her need for the drugs, yet a cycle had begun – a cycle hard to escape. Like many girls working the streets, Cynthia eventually learned how to separate herself from her experiences. She found a job cleaning for an elderly couple, shopping, cleaning and running errands. At night she would work the streets. One day the man she was cleaning for stopped her and said good morning. When she replied pleasantly he said “oh – it’s nice to see you – I can distinctly tell the difference between the three of you – I can see in your eyes who you are today”. Like many sexual abuse victims Cynthia began to take on different personalities as an escape from the pain.
At one point, Cynthia freed herself from the DTES and returned home to see her grandmother. Cynthia was addicted and down to 80 pounds. When she returned home, she slept for days withdrawing from the T’s and R’s. Her grandmother wanted to know why she was sleeping so much, and then all of a sudden eating so much. She told her grandmother everything. Her grandmother didn’t judge – instead it brought them even closer. Cynthia would sit for hours at the big window in her grandma’s front room watching an eagle. One day her grandmother sat beside her…
“Cindy I want you to make me a promise”
“What grandma?”
“No Cindy – I need you to promise first”
“What?”
“Promise me first and then I can tell you”
“Ok grandma – I promise”
“When I am gone, I don’t want you to ever come back here”
“Ok grandma I promise”
And so Cynthia left – and again returned to the DTES of Vancouver. Torn between two lives – a Nation with family history yet plagued by alcoholism or her sister in Vancouver and the cycle of addiction.
For 29 years, Cynthia has survived the streets of the Downtown Eastside. She has survived prostitution, heroin, cocaine, T’s and R’s. Yet somehow she has overcome most her battles. Five years ago she successfully completed re-hab. She chooses to stay in the neighbourhood she knows, perhaps because it is home, perhaps because she is drawn to stay. In Cynthia’s words “This street grabs ahold of you – the demon is the rock(cocaine)”. Yet Cynthia has beat most of her battles and now feels compelled to help others.
Just last month, at age 55, Cynthia went back to school. She attends 3 days a week learning basic computer skills and eventually Aboriginal law. Each day she walks Hastings Street while reciting positive affirmations in her mind. She stops to give hugs to so many who need it. Last year, as she walked the street of her neighbourhood a man from a church group stopped her to talk. He could tell she was a part of the neighbourhood but that she was clean. He asked her why she stayed. Cynthia told him she didn’t know. He then said “I can see why you are here – you have something important to do here. People will listen to you. You have a story to tell.” As she told us this story, Cynthia beamed with pride as she has believed this to be true since that day and now she is starting to see it happen. Her poem “Goodbye Letter to Myself” was recently published in a local magazine. She has been interviewed on TV and recently she took it upon herself to speak to a group of Aboriginal youth visiting the DTES. I told her about my blog and asked if I could share her story. With pride she smiled “you don’t have to ask me twice”. As I told her more about Project HELLO I asked if she would ever be interested in joining me to present to youth or to educators. I shared with her that I have a similar goal, as I want to share our story to help others understand the DTES and understand how students can make a difference. I mentioned that I would be presenting the THESA conference in October and wondered if she would like to join me. With a smile as wide as a child racing towards a finish line Cynthia whole heartedly agreed saying today was meant to happen. She then asked me my astrological sign and smiled as if she already knew when she discovered we are both Leo. As we finished our lunch, she sat in contentment and offered this “we met for a reason – there is no such things as a coincidence.” I told her I couldn’t agree more.
I asked Cynthia two final questions. First, I asked what she would like others to understand about the DTES. Here’s what she had to share. “It’s not what people think. The people down here are real. They may be messed up, but what they say is real and true. Before you judge, try to walk a day in their shoes”.
I then asked Cynthia where she plans to be in five years. Despite her promise to her grandma, Cynthia feels compelled to help her band. First she will stay in Vancouver to finish course work and improve her employment skills and understanding of Aboriginal law. In time she will make her way back to Port Alberni. Her Nation, To-quaht has recently reached a treaty settlement with the government and they are beginning to develop their oceanfront land and create employment opportunities. Cynthia will use the funds she receives from the treaty for retirement and to set up an RESP for her grandson. Cynthia smiled with adult confidence and then with a second thought her eyes sparkled ands she said “or maybe I’ll follow through with my dream as a child and open up my flower shop”.
I can’t help but wonder if Cynthia’s flower shop already exists in a metaphorical way. In Canada’s darkest neighbourhood she is light. Her hugs, her stories and her courage to make a positive difference offer beauty and serenity just like a fresh cut bouquet of flowers.
![photo[1]](https://hopefullearning.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/photo11.jpg)
Millions of people around the world waited in anticipation for the birth of a Royal baby today. For William and Kate, and the Royal watchers, today is a significant day in history -as a Royal baby signifies a new beginning and a new family bond.
In stark comparison, I too waited in anticipation today. I walked the streets of Canada’s darkest neighbourhood – the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, in hopes that I could find Cindy, an HIV positive woman who struggles with mental illness and addiction. I crossed my fingers and hoped that today she would be ready to reach out and hear her child’s voice for the first time.
I first met Cindy last week when we began ‘Beyond HELLO’, a school based project where we reach out to the homeless community with compassion and understanding, and listen to life stories.Our goal is to provide hope to the Downtown Eastside residents and treat them with the dignity and respect they deserve as we attempt to breakdown down the us-them mentality that seems to plague our society. To read part 1 and part 2 of our story , click on these links.
Part 1: All Too Familiar Streets http://bit.ly/1bKJny7
Part 2: Miraculous Moments http://bit.ly/13W2mhq
Today our day began as a scavenger hunt. The streets were busier than usual and behaviours seemed more extreme than normal. Even the familiar faces that normally welcome us to the neighbourhood seemed a little less cheerful today. Probably a combination of the hot weather, the full moon and the monthly pay day – still two long days away. We walked the streets for an hour hoping to find Cindy. We decided to see if she was at home, and took the elevator up to her floor of the government funded building. The elevator itself seemed more like a crate, with nothing but stained metal sides and cracked buttons. Through the narrow halls we found her door, with a memo stuck to it, requesting her to bag her clothes so they could spray for bugs. We knocked and waited. No answer.
Back on the streets we walked up and down the hot pavement. In casual conversation we spoke to some residents, often showing Cindy’s photo and asking if they had seen her. Most had. Cindy is well known in the DTES as she has survived the streets for over twenty years. Despite her temper and drastic mood swings, there is something very likeable about Cindy. She is intelligent, articulate, creative and passionate. Despite her traumatic life story she is a strong woman. When she opens up, and makes sincere eye contact, you can see her soul buried under layers and layers of hurt. She has had a tough life, and is her own worst enemy, yet underneath a woman exists with moral values and a big heart. As we spoke to others on the street, they each had something positive to say. One woman told us about her journey through detox with Cindy. Fortunately for this woman, she has managed to stay clean. She suggested we try InSite, the safe injection site.
As we entered InSite, we were caught up in a steady stream of clients trying to enter the building through a narrow entrance ramp. Others leaving shuffled their way through the narrow path bumping into one another in the tight space. Some brought their bikes in with them as there is no security in leaving them unattended on East Hastings. The staff were busy checking clients in and out so we stepped aside to the waiting area until they had a moment. The staff at InSite are wonderful, nurturing and respectful, and spent time listening to us about our project. They could not release confidential information but they told us that they would be happy to help as messengers by passing on information to Cindy. We left a note with them including Cindy’s daughter’s phone number and then make our way back to the streets.
In our last attempt before heading to the car, we saw Cindy, just steps away from InSite, standing in front of the community garden where she planted the lavender for her daughter just last Friday. Cindy looked alive and vibrant today. She was wearing jeans, a red tank top and a grey headband. She almost looked stylish – a drastic comparison to her outfits last week.
David and I approached Cindy, again not knowing whether she would welcome our visit. This time she did. She started by saying she could not believe our timing as she was just thinking about us. I told her that I had more news about her daughter. I let her know that her daughter had shared more poetry and we have printed it for her. I also let her know that her own daughter has lived a life with some similar struggles. She too had a baby at 16, and she has also struggled with addiction. Cindy realized this means she is a grandma. I let her know her granddaugther’s name and tears of love poured down her face. Her legs became weak and she had to hold on to me for stability. The news was so powerful that she needed to sit. Beside her on the dirty streets she had an over stuffed brown teddybear. She used the bear as her pillow and sat down. Cindy stared deeply into my eyes not wanting to miss a single word as I told her about my emails back and forth with her daughter. I assured her that her daughter understands her, and let her know that her daughter would love to say hi. Cindy looked to me for strength and said ok. I called the number and listened to the rings at the other end. After three rings I began to worry that we would not make a connection. Then, I heard the voice of her daughter on the other end. I let her daughter know that Cindy was ready to say hello.
Cindy took my phone and whispered “Hi baby – it’s your mom”. Tears fell and she reached out her hand and took my hand. She squeezed my hand tightly and I encouraged her to keep going, rubbing her back while she spoke. The first thing she asked her daughter was whether or not the adoption agency gave her the twelve page letter she had left explaining all the reasons she had to give her up. They had not. Like a woman on a mission, Cindy condensed the 12 pages into a three minute explanation about her teenage years, her abusive boyfriend, her lack of support and her most difficult decision. Her daughter understood. The conversation became a bit lighter and the two of them discussed pottery and poetry. Both women have an artistic, creative spirit, and felt the connection with one another. Cindy then listened as her daughter spoke. While I did not hear what her daughter said, I know it was heartfelt as Cindy’s emotion was one I cannot even describe. All I can say, is that her face was overcome with expressions I have only witnessed through media after a tragedy has occurred. With a mix of love, anguish and grief, her mouth seemed to stretch back, and her eyes focussed intently as tears poured from her face. It was the most raw emotion I have ever experienced. I cannot find the words to describe it well but know I will never forget the image. Soon, overcome by her emotion, Cindy tilted her head back and let the phone fall gently from her hand to the sidewalk. I picked up the phone to see how her daughter was doing. I asked Cindy if she had anything else to say. Through grief she asked me to tell her she loved her. I told her she had the courage to say it herself and held the phone to her ear while she whispered to her daughter that she loves her. She explained that she has full blown AIDS and does not have long to live. It was a conversation Cindy has dreamed about for over twenty years, yet finding family when life is limited seems so unfair. With a mix of shame and hope, love and pain, Cindy handed the phone back to me and let her head fall gently back on the sidewalk against the teddy bear. I let her daughter know I would be in touch soon and we hung up.
We sat with Cindy as she cried, staining her daughter’s poetry in fresh tears. For the first time in Cindy’s life she has heard her baby speak. She heard forgiveness for her most difficult decisions. She heard acceptance despite her lifestyle. Through loving words, a mother daughter connection was made, helping both of their souls heal. Their missing puzzle piece is now found. For Cindy it is bitter sweet. She has waited her whole life to feel the unconditional love that exists between a parent and a child and has now found it near the end of her life.
Together we sat hand in hand on the hard, stained pavement surrounded by graffiti and the smell of drugs. Together, despite our surroundings, we found hope in Vancouver’s darkest neighbourhood. All because these women had the courage to go ‘Beyond HELLO’.
![photo[2]](https://hopefullearning.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/photo21.jpg)
Life is full of miracles. I’m not exactly sure why we choose Cindy from the crowded streets of the Downtown Eastside. She just seemed to be the right person at the right moment. When we left Cindy after our first day, I questioned whether our trip had done more harm than good. We left Cindy behind, sick, drug addicted and longing for money we were not willing to provide. We left with a promise – a promise to try and find her family and send messages of love – a promise we hoped we could keep.
And this is when the miracles started to happen. Late Wednesday night I sat awake writing my first blog post about Cindy. I also searched Facebook and found a profile for a girl with the same name that Cindy had given us of her daughter who she had given up for adoption in Ontario. She had the same first, middle and last name that so I was optimistic we had found her. I sent a message and the waiting began. A couple hours later I realized the last Facebook post on this page had been months ago so I felt discouraged, not knowing whether or not the message would be received. And then I had an idea…. what if I randomly scrolled her ‘Friends’ list on Facebook to find someone active with their account who could perhaps reach her. I scrolled past 20 or so photos – and then the first miracle took place…. I saw the magic words (1 mutual friend) under a man’s photo. It turns out one of my students from years ago went to University with a guy who went to grade school with Cindy’s daughter in Ontario. Within minutes my student and I connected and he confirmed he is great friends with the man in Ontario and he would try and help. By mid day Thursday, Cindy’s daughter sent me a message, confirming her identity and wanting to connect with her mom she has never met.
Overcome with joy, Cindy’s daughter and I began to email back and forth. She is a writer and an artist and writes poetry under the pseudonym Keronica. Two years ago she requested her adoption papers in search of her mother. She had found out her mother’s name and knew she had travelled to BC decades ago. Not knowing anything else about her mother, she has been writing poetry about the topics of ADHD, addiction and adoption. With her permission, I share with you this poem that she wrote before I contacted her about wanting to meet her mother.
Right then and there, Frakasine understood
why her parents, perhaps, had chosen adoption;
some things are much harder done than said,
tough decisions can lead to even tougher options.
The woman spoke, “don’t despair, Frakasine,
you’re not alone, just take it from me.
Sometimes you may think your parents forgot about you,
but in their own ways, they know what you’ve gone through.”
And at the exact moment of Frakasine’s epiphany,
her parents awoke from within the same dream.
Such sorrow, still felt from ‘giving her up.’
Both wonder constantly…
how has she been?”
I then ask Cindy if she ever met Dr. Gabor Mate, filling her in on her daughter’s interest in his books. She looks at me with what I first suspect is a blank stare… and then says – do you mean Dr. Mate – the author of ‘In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts?’. I say yes. She is stunned – not only was he her doctor, she IS one of the people in the book that he has written about, chronicling her pregnancy journals from her last pregnancy just five years ago. She cannot believe her daughter has read the book that is about her. Neither can I. Another miraculous moment.
Five years ago, my students and I began Project H.E.L.L.O. (Helping Everyone Locate Loved Ones). Each year at Christmas and Mothers’ Day we head to the streets of the Downtown Eastside and invite the homeless to reach out and re-connect with friends or family who they may have lost touch with by sending one of our handmade greeting cards. We then return to the schools and use the internet and phones to search for families. To date, we have successfully connected over 300 homeless people with loved ones through cards, phone calls and a special face to face reunion.
The experience has been life changing, as we have gained so much more than we have given. We have experienced many moments we will never forget, when the rough edges of the Eastside dissipate for a minute, and individuals search their soul to find just the right words to say to their long lost family. We have listened to heartbreaking stories of addiction, abuse, family breakdown and mental health, yet we have also left feeling inspired by the resilience, hope and love that still exists. We have cried with parents and children overwhelmed to hear from their loved one for the first time in years. And other times, we have mailed cards, never truly knowing the impact. What we do know, is that each person on the DTES has a story. A story that explains their life and makes them truly unique. A story that I believe is worth hearing. For when we understand, we judge less.
Today was day one of ‘Beyond HELLO’. The idea was simple. I would head to the DTES on a hot day and hand out water. I would then invite one person to go for lunch at Save On Meats Diner, and over lunch, I would ask them some deeper questions to understand their life story. With their permission, I would share their story and explain that our goal is to help the public understand the people of the DTES and treat them with the compassion and respect they deserve. I invited David Jennings to join me. David is a student at the University of Alberta, and one of the students who began Project HELLO with me five years ago. With two cases of water, an iPad with some thoughtful questions and some good intention we headed to the streets of the Downtown Eastside.
David and I are both familiar with the streets of the DTES as we have visited the neighbourhood dozens of times with Project HELLO, so it caught us both off guard as we approached with trepidation, not knowing what to expect. How would we invite someone to lunch? How would we decide whom to choose? What would we say? We decided to load two bags full of water and walk the streets. We decided that when the moment felt right for either of us, we would ask. After two blocks, and brief encounters, we approached a lady who appeared in need. She stood alone on the street, with ragged clothing, and unkempt hair. When we offered her a bottle of water, she accepted but said what she really needed was money for a meal as she was starving. We replied by saying we were just headed out for lunch and we would love for her to join us at Save on Meats if she was interested. She thought for a second and then accepted our invitation. Seeming somewhat ashamed to be with us, or to accept our offer, she walked ahead of us at a rapid pace. I asked her her name, and she replied with one word – Cindy. We introduced ourselves and for the next few minutes we walked behind her, offering water to others as we made our way to the restaurant. Both David and I had the same feeling. We had selected the wrong person. She appeared somewhat erratic on the streets, crossing through intersections diagonally and attempting to ignore or avoid any small talk with us. The thought crossed my mind to offer her money to eat and find someone else to join us.
As we entered the alcove of the Save On Meats diner, things changed. Overcome with emotion, Cindy experienced a mental breakdown. She turned to us and frantically explained that she had no idea who we were or why we were there, but that she was highly suicidal. She feared for her life because of a drug debt and believed today was the day she would die of murder or suicide. In a rage of emotion she frantically explained her suicidal ideation repeatedly telling us she had decided that today was the day. She could not understand why we had chosen to help her. David and I helped her with the door, and asked the waitress for a table for three. We acknowledged the stress Cindy was under and motioned for her to come in and sit with us so we could try and help. Again overcome with emotion, and with fear in her eyes, she flung herself into the booth and she began to open up… Here’s how it began…
Cindy admits to us that she is an addict. She calls herself a junkie and knows her addiction has the best of her. She is also HIV positive and now has full blown AIDS. Her extremities are swollen and inflamed, and her right leg is incredibly infected. Her body is in septic shock. She knows she is nearing death and that she should be in the hospital. She knows it is time for her leg to be amputated, but she is scared. Hospitalized recently, she tells us how she yanked her tubes out and escaped back to the Downtown Eastside so she could feed her addiction.
With fear and tears in her eyes, she explains that she has cheated a friend to get her last hit of heroin. She owes the dealer twenty dollars, and if she does not pay, she knows that either she or her friend will be physically beaten. Looking in her eyes, I know the fear is real. She fixates on suicide and the need to jump off a bridge. She also shares thoughts of robbing the bank down the street as these two options appear to be her only escape. She has never robbed a bank before, but knows it has been robbed by others so she is willing to try in an attempt to get the 20 and avoid putting her friend at risk. Although I never give money out on the DTES, something tells me this is different, and that Cindy is telling us the truth. I hear myself say to Cindy that things will be ok. We will help take some of the stress off her, let her have a good meal, relax for a while and after lunch I will give her the 20 to pay her debt. Cindy starts to relax, but is still overcome with fear of what may happen to her friend. The waitress approaches and Cindy orders a coke, a strawberry shake, a burger and fries. She then sheepishly asks if she could have the $20 right away, so she can go take care of the debt before lunch as she cannot relax knowing her friend is in jeopardy. I hear myself agree and hand Cindy $20. As David and I sit together in the booth, we quickly reflect, both wondering if she will return. I ask David if he believes her story, and in complete agreement, he says, yes – you can see it in her eyes.
Five minutes later, Cindy returns. A weight has been lifted off her shoulders and she cannot believe we have helped her. With panic gone, we begin to see the real Cindy, and begin a great two hour conversation. Cindy is almost speechless, wondering why we have chosen her to help. David and I explain project HELLO and through conversation we realize that we have found family members of two of her friends. We use David’s phone to show Cindy pictures of her friends Rosemary and Sandra, and tell her about the connections we have helped them make. She is in disbelief and again thanks us sincerely. She again explains that today was the day. She had chosen today to die, and was standing on the street contemplating suicide. Right before we approached her, her thoughts were shouting out that no one in this entire world cared about her. Looking in our eyes with a calmness and softness that had not existed on the streets, she tells us that she feels a higher power is at work today as we are exactly what she needed. Through tears of appreciation she tells us that we seem so real and so grounded and she can not believe we have picked her to join us for lunch. We thank her for her words, and explain to her that this is our first day of ‘Beyond HELLO’ and she is the first person who seemed like they could use some company and a good meal.
As our food arrives, Cindy excuses herself to wash her hands. Feeling like the presentation is not appropriate for a suicidal woman, I remove the knife that is projecting from Cindy’s burger. She returns with wet hands and embraces her burger and milkshake with childlike wonder. Although she has lived across the street for twenty years, this is the first time she has been in the restaurant, and the first time in years that she has ordered from a menu. Despite her appearance the wait staff treat her with respect and it seems like Cindy is no different than anyone else in the restaurant.
Through lunch I explain to Cindy how her story can inspire others. I acknowledge the heart and spirit that we can see and the life she has within her. Together we agree that today is not her day to die. I too don’t know why she stood out to us on the streets, but we all recognize that a reason exists for us to come together. I invite her to tell us her story and ask permission to share it so others can understand the people of the DTES and the circumstances of their lives. She looks at us with pride and disbelief, moved by the glimmer of hope that her story could make a difference to others. She is honoured and willing to share….
Cindy moved to the DTES at the age of 16. She was born to a middle class family in Oshawa, Ontario. Her mom has a hard working woman who was very health conscious. Cindy stops and says to me that I remind her of her mom. I laugh and tell her that I’m in the middle of eating French fries so I can’t be a health nut. She laughs too and tells me her mom likes French fries too but would only allow herself to have one. As I continue to eat my fries she continues. She does not give us details but alleges to an abusive step father as one of the reasons for the move. Before moving to BC she gave birth to her daughter who she gave up for adoption as she did not have any means to provide for her. Cindy mentions that she has always wanted to find her daughter but she wants to clean herself up first. She has thought of reaching out to an agency to help but wants to be drug free to make her daughter proud. Unfortunately she has been in and out of rehabilitation programs, and although she has gotten herself clean twice over the past decade, the lure of the drugs in the neighbourhood always draws her back. In the early days she worked the streets of Vancouver, caught in a vicious cycle of prostitution and addiction. She speaks of an organization from twenty years ago called the Teen Challenge that really reached out and connected with her. She says that we remind her of the people who helped her then as she feels so comfortable opening up with us.
She also speaks of her son who she gave birth to in 1991 with her boyfriend who still lives in the DTES as well. She lost guardianship of her son and she believes he is now in Montreal. She spells his name for us and I ask David to check Facebook. Within minutes, we have her son’s Facebook profile on David’s phone, with a matching name and birthday. For the first time in over 20 years, Cindy is looking at her son’s face. She is overcome with joy and holds the phone cheek to cheek asking us if we can see a resemblance. She explains that her son’s father tried to hurt her recently by yelling out his balcony at her saying their son was in jail for sexual assault. She says she hates to think her son would be capable of that and she wonders if it’s the father’s way of trying to hurt her. David and I decide not to tell her that the Facebook post on his page from a friend says ‘Are you still in jail?’
Cindy tells us about her living conditions in her government funded building. Despite her need for cleanliness, she cannot help but feel the walls are closing in as bugs swarm her tiny apartment entering through the ventilation system. The smell of chemical fumes is overwhelming. The hallways have blood stains and splatters on the walls and door handles. Broken needles are prevalent and her foot is extremely infected from the tip of a needle that is lodged within her foot. Her leg is red and purple, three times the size it should be and covered in a rash up to her knee. She walks with a limp because of the pain. She tells us about another tenant who has beaten her regularly. She also speaks of an ex boyfriend who lived with her for a while. Four years ago they too had a child together, another girl, but the baby was taken into ministry care. When she speaks of her children you can see the shame she feels yet the eternal love of a mother who never stops worrying about her kids is also evident. She knows she does not have long to live but wishes she could let them know how much she loves them. David and I take down the correct spelling and details around each of her three children and promise to share her story and send love if we can find them.
As we finish lunch, Cindy is again in tears. Her vocabulary and world knowledge is impressive as she explains that her actions as an addict do not align with her moral fibre. She knows she has hurt people to feed her addiction and she is so ashamed as she knows that underneath she is a good strong person. She also knows that she does not have long to live. She knows her doctor wants her to be at St. Pauls Hospital in the AIDS ward. She knows she will die there. When she talks about her recent run from the hospital she explains she was not mentally ready. She knows her time is almost up but she wants to be at peace with herself and heal some wounds with others. She talks abut whether or not this is a selfish pursuit. She explains that she often thinks of people in Auschwitz who died in Concentration Camps. If they were not given time to mentally prepare for death, why should she be afforded such a luxury? She wrestles with this though but wants to find peace before she dies.
As the waitress brings us the bill, Cindy seems at peace. She asks to use the washroom and returns completely cleaned up. Her hair is wet from quick wash and is now tied in a pony tail off her face. She has cleaned her face and hands and mentions she has even washed her feet in the sink. With a new lightness of spirit, she tells us she no longer feels alone, and she believes she is ready to go to the hospital. I ask if she would like an ambulance or if she would like a ride to St. Paul’s. Cindy then pauses, and asks if she can ask us for one final request. We invite her to share.
“Can we please take a detour on the way to the hospital. Can we go for a drive so I can see the ocean one more time before I die?”
“Yes – I think that’s a great idea. How about we drive through Stanley Park first?”
“Oh- can we stop for a minute so I can put my feet in the ocean? And could you please take my picture there and share it with my family?”
“Yes. I think that’s a wonderful idea. I think you are ready to do that”.
As I pay the bill, Cindy excuses herself for a smoke break outside. We join her minutes later and point to my car two blocks away along Hastings, an all too familiar street for Cindy.
We approach my car and let Cindy know she can have the front seat. She mentions her stomach is doing flips. Perhaps it’s the nerves, perhaps it’s the milkshake, coke, fries and burger that are hard on her system that usually gets by with so much less. We stand outside my car and the sights, smells and passerby’s of Hastings surround us. Drawn by her addiction, Cindy looks at me with one hand on the car door and asks if she can please have $20 for one more hit or some T3’s to stop the pain. I say no. Cindy then asks for $10. Then $7 and then $5. She needs her drugs before she leaves so she can self administer them while at the hospital. I look her in the eyes telling her I will not give her money to feed the addiction. The hospital staff have the medication she needs. Caught in turmoil, she is paralyzed. I tell her I can take her to the ocean, I can take her to the hospital but I will not give her money. Our eyes meet and we both feel the pain, knowing that the Cindy we got to know has surrendered to the addiction once again. Her need for just one more hit is stronger than her willpower to escape. I hear myself say “Cindy, I think it’s time we should go.” And I know by looking at her that she feels the shame of another broken relationship. David and I get in the car. We sit and wait for a minute in case she can find the strength. Knowing she is not ready, I drive away slowly, with the image in my rearview mirror of Cindy hunched over the parking meter, forever burned in my mind.
Tonight, after returning home, I have located Cindy’s mom and her daughter who she gave up for adoption. Through Facebook we have located pictures of her mom, son and daughter. Her daughter is a spitting image of Cindy yet they have never met. I have sent messages to the mother and daughter, explaining ‘Beyond HELLO’ asking them to contact me about Cindy. At the very least, I can provide Cindy with pictures of her family. Perhaps her wish will come true and she can connect with family before she dies. Late this evening, I feel a small miracle occurred. After noticing that her daughter has not been active on Facebook for over six months, I decided to click on her ‘Friends’ tab with the intention of picking a random stranger to help me connect. I then noticed the (1 mutual friend) notation under one of her friend’s photos. By a strange coincidence, her daughter is friends with a man in Ontario who is friends with one of my ex-students. This same student actually approached me last year about spreading the word of Project HELLO in Ontario. We have now connected and he too hopes that the mutual friend can reach Cindy’s daughter for us. I do not know what will come of today’s lunch, but I am grateful to Cindy for having the courage to share her story and her willingness to share with the world. There is good reason to go Beyond HELLO.
This morning I had the opportunity to attend a great presentation in Maple Ridge with Dr. Gabor Mate, physician and bestselling author on addiction, attachment, parenting and mind-body wellness. Dr. Mate began his presentation talking about addiction and the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver. He expressed concern for society’s understanding of addiction, explaining that our current system assumes two theories of addiction: the first that addiction is genetic, or the second suggesting that addiction is a choice people make. What he stressed is the convenience of these theories, for as long as we support them we negate the role society plays in the lives of people struggling with addiction. He encouraged the audience to look beyond the addiction, and ask “Why the pain, rather than why the addiction?” Through his work on the Downtown Eastside he has come to realize that addiction is often a result of impaired attachments.
Dr. Mate’s presentation was a good reminder for me, as I often have the opportunity to talk to students about drug use. While some students try drugs for experimental reasons, I would say it is more common for students to turn to drugs as a way of medicating their own stress. I am grateful that our district has an ‘alternate to suspension’ program to address drug use in students, offering counseling services and goal setting. I am reminded to ask questions, get to know students, and dig deeper to hear the life stories, and stresses that may be masked by drug use. Once we can determine the cause of pain, we have a much greater success of helping the student heal. Research indicates that a connection to family and a connection to school are the two most significant factors determining whether a student will engage in problematic drug and alcohol use. When students struggle with drug use, I need to remember that a suspension is a consequence but not a solution. Taking time to get to know the student and helping them find ways to connect with the school will have deeper impact.
Dr. Mate’s presentation this morning also reminds me of a friend I lost a couple years ago, when he passed away from addiction issues. Irvin Wickens became a friend, in the most unlikely of circumstances, and he left me with the most meaningful gift I have ever received.
Here is the story of my friend, Irvin Wickens…
In November of 2009, a church in Port Moody approached our school and asked if we could advertise a volunteer opportunity for our students to work in the local homeless shelter, providing dinner and conversation. The response was overwhelming and we have over 100 students wishing to participate. We committed to two shifts per week, where I would volunteer with 6-10 students and staff.
Our first night at the shelter was November 13, 2009. It was a cold, wet, rainy night where we served chili and buns to provide some warmth to the twelve clients at the shelter. As we served dessert, a student and I sat down beside Irvin. Irvin had the stereotypical image of a homeless man: his clothes were worn and dirty, his hair unruly, and he was unshaven. Yet beyond that his eyes sparkled, and he offered kindness and gratitude as we engaged in conversation. Irvin told us that he it was his mom’s birthday. I asked if he had had an opportunity to call her. He told me no, as his mom had passed away years ago. He also shared that he had lost two sisters. Assuming they had died recently I asked him when they had passed away. Irvin then began a story I will never forget…. he spoke of his childhood in Milwaukee, and a horrific night when he was just six years old. Living in poverty, with a single mom and three siblings, he awoke to find their house on fire. Irvin woke one sister who shared a room with him. He then ran across the hall to try and get to the room his other two sisters shared. The fire blocked the entrance so he ran to wake his mom. He shared his memory of his mom running into the fire trying to save her daughters. He then recalls his images of his mom emerging from the house covered in burns and overcome with grief, as she whispered ‘they are gone’. In that moment, Irvin lost a 3 year old and 8 year old sister. Trying to hold back my own tears I told Irvin he was a hero for saving his mom and one sister. He then politely excused himself to go for a cigarette and I excused myself to tidy up the dishes. In that instant, Irvin taught me that homelessness is not caused by addiction, but rather by trauma and an inability to move forward.
As I waited with our students for parents to pick them up that evening, one student who had heard Irvin’s story approached me and told me that he had been struggling for months with the news of his parents’ divorce. After hearing Irvin’s story, he realized he still had two parents that loved him and he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself as his problems were minimal compared to Irvin’s.
For the next year, we enjoyed our weekly visits with Irvin. His eyes would sparkle as he would speak of his adventures in life, and on a good night he would break out in song and amaze our students with his beautiful voice. Tears would roll down his face as he would sing Eric Clapton’s ‘Beautiful Tonight’. When he finished his dessert, and left the table, he would always shout out with enthusiasm “Cowboy Up!”
In late March 2010, I had a great conversation with Irivn about what he would do if he won the lottery. He spoke of all the charities he would help as he appreciated the help he had received from others and he wanted to pay it back. On our final evening at the shelter I approached Irvin and told him I had a gift for him. I gave him a lottery ticket and told him I hoped his luck would change. I thanked him for sharing his story and for making such a difference with our students. Irvin reached in his pocket and told me he had a gift for me as well. Not knowing what to expect from the pocket of a homeless man, I remember feeling nervous about what could possibly come from his pocket. When he unfolded his hand, he held out a small brown rock. He told me that the year before the shelter opened, he was living under a bridge in Port Coquitlam. Some middle school students had approached him with their teacher and offered him some cookies. With the cookies, they had also given him the rock, and told him it was a friendship rock. 
They asked him to keep it in his pocket, and to remember each time he felt it, that the community cares about him. Irvin told me the lottery ticket would replace the rock, and he asked me to take the rock, and put it in my pocket to thank me for caring about him. Eight months later, Irvin passed away from his addictions. However, his story, and his rock, will be with me forever.
Dr. Gabor Mate’s message, and my friend Irvin, teach the same valuable lesson. Everyone has a story and we need to look beyond addiction to discover the root of the pain. Love, compassion and connection will always be more powerful that punishment and shame.
Cowboy Up!
Hopeful Learning: Kristi Blakeway 
