i think the hardest thing about this work is that the stories just don't stop. every night there are more. that probably explains why i've struggled to post since deano's death. there are so many stories to tell. each as important as the last, which ones do i share? how do you put into words the agony, loneliness and desperation of the people behind the stories?
last night i met someone who stood out. someone's story that had to be told. someone's mother.
we pulled up in a main street in the city around 10.15.
not far from where we parked we could see a trolley stacked high with belongings. it was like something from an american tv show and i expected to see the stereo-typical american tv show homeless guy sitting behind the trolley.
instead there was a well dressed middle aged woman.
she was about the same age and build as my mum, she even had the same funky colours in her hair.
i wasn't sure if she was homeless, she looked 'normal'. sometimes when we approach people with our big red shield jackets and ask someone -who turns out to be waiting for a bus- if they'd like a coffee they get quite shirty. "no i certainly don't, i'm waiting for a bus".
not this time.
we asked this lady if she would like a coffee and there and then the tears started.
she was all alone. sitting there on that bench she had all of her earthly belongings (in nice luggage with the exception of the one large plastic garbage bag) and no-one in the world to turn to. it made no sense.
we sat and chatted for a while.
this lovely lady had left an abusive husband in brisbane when she finally couldn't take one more beating.
she was a nurse who until 'escaping' had worked full time in a hospital. her mum had just passed away leaving her all alone in brisbane except for her abusive husband.
she came to victoria to the only family she has left, her son -who it turns out is my age- and his wife and child in bendigo.
she fitted in well to her son's home and thoroughly enjoyed being a live in grandma. as she told the stories of spending time in a loving family unit, looking after her son, his wife and spoiling her grandchild her face lit up and i imagine her heart did too.
her son works the mines in w.a and after a month of living in seeming bliss, having escaped a brutal husband, everything changed for this lovely, loving mother and grandmother.
almost as soon as her son went back to the mine his wife turned nasty. she was rude, aggressive and very un-welcoming to this brave survivor.
eventually after around a week things came to a head and after ignoring her mother in law for a week, this heartless woman turned to her one day and told her to get out of their house because her son hated her.
hated her.
it couldn't be true. it makes no sense. but it didn't matter. words hurt and these words carried a lot of pain.
she had been kicked out of her son's house with no way of contacting him and only her daughter-in-laws harsh, horrible words in her mind. she carried her things to the train station and got on a train.
now she sat on a bench in the middle of melbourne at 10.30 at night. no where to go. no one to go to and with a gaping hole in her heart.
where was she going? back to brisbane to the only people she knows. where would she live? she didn't know. one idea she had was to buy a tent and go to a caravan park but she wasn;t sure if she'd have enough money.
we offered her a place in a women's refuge but she refused, too proud i guess. no matter how hard we tried to help, to get her to a safe place, she steadfastly denied our help and was certain that she had to escape again. she was going to wait until morning and catch the first bus to brisbane with her life - 3 suitcases and a plastic garbage bag.
we kept her company for a while, gave her some food and coffee but had to leave this woman.
this beautiful, kind, softly spoken, heart broken women.
someone's mother.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
deano
deano was an interesting character. he was always bright, happy and full of song (unfortunately it was generally the sydney swans theme song).
deano has been a valued & loved member of the 614 family for the 5 years we've been there, he's been part of the street community for more than 15 years although he was only 37 when he died on the cold streets of melbourne on friday night.
deano desperately wanted to change. he tried detox numerous times. he had beds in crisis facilities, he had a great relationship with his wonderful sister who would look after him when he went there but at the end of the day his friends were on the street, life on the streets was what he knew, it's where he was accepted and that's where he wanted to be.
with his friends. accepted.
who doesn't?
it was not irregular for deano to come into 614 bruised and battered. street fight?
no.
drunken middle class teenagers out in the city looking for a good time by beating up homeless people.
everyone i've spoken to about deano in the last few days has said the same thing- dean had a heart of gold. he would always give up his last dollar to someone more needy than him (although you & i would struggle to imagine anyone that needy), he always had a drink to share and could always put a smile on your face.
why did he die?
its a question that has been asked a bit in the last few days.
well he died because its cold on the streets. he died because when you have that much pain going on in your life, the amount of alcohol it takes to block out that pain will eventually kill you.
he died because there is a monumental fault in our sense of community in this country and a drastic shortage of homes, rehab beds and people willing to care for people (note 'people', not 'workers', not 'specialists' - people willing to care for people).
while an official autopsy will happen in the coming days, it's pretty clear that deano died because he was tired.
life on the streets in hard. harder than you or i could probably imagine or deal with.
the nights are cold - freezing cold - and there is no guarantee your blankets will be where you left them (or not covered in someone else's urine - apparently that's a fun thing to do for suburban teens as well). for the most part the food you eat is cheap, irregular & un healthy.
people stare at you. people laugh at you. people judge you.
your feet hurt from walking around all day. your socks stick to your feet because you have to wear your shoes 24/7 out of fear someone will steal them while you're asleep. your clothes smell and your shower times are dictated by the opening hours of drop in centres.
doctors are impossible to find if you're don't have a lot of money(especially in the City) , your health deteriorates.
friends come and go, workers leave, sympathetic police move on, business' close & open, times change.
some would say deano was misunderstood. some would say he just didn't fit in our society. both of those things might be true although dean would never consider himself misunderstood & he certainly made himself fit in any situation he found himself in.
it's been pretty clear for the last few weeks though- since the tragic death of his brother- that deano had done his time here and it was time to go home.
on friday night he did.
dean williams 10/02/71 - 11/07/08
deano has been a valued & loved member of the 614 family for the 5 years we've been there, he's been part of the street community for more than 15 years although he was only 37 when he died on the cold streets of melbourne on friday night.
deano desperately wanted to change. he tried detox numerous times. he had beds in crisis facilities, he had a great relationship with his wonderful sister who would look after him when he went there but at the end of the day his friends were on the street, life on the streets was what he knew, it's where he was accepted and that's where he wanted to be.
with his friends. accepted.
who doesn't?
it was not irregular for deano to come into 614 bruised and battered. street fight?
no.
drunken middle class teenagers out in the city looking for a good time by beating up homeless people.
everyone i've spoken to about deano in the last few days has said the same thing- dean had a heart of gold. he would always give up his last dollar to someone more needy than him (although you & i would struggle to imagine anyone that needy), he always had a drink to share and could always put a smile on your face.
why did he die?
its a question that has been asked a bit in the last few days.
well he died because its cold on the streets. he died because when you have that much pain going on in your life, the amount of alcohol it takes to block out that pain will eventually kill you.
he died because there is a monumental fault in our sense of community in this country and a drastic shortage of homes, rehab beds and people willing to care for people (note 'people', not 'workers', not 'specialists' - people willing to care for people).
while an official autopsy will happen in the coming days, it's pretty clear that deano died because he was tired.
life on the streets in hard. harder than you or i could probably imagine or deal with.
the nights are cold - freezing cold - and there is no guarantee your blankets will be where you left them (or not covered in someone else's urine - apparently that's a fun thing to do for suburban teens as well). for the most part the food you eat is cheap, irregular & un healthy.
people stare at you. people laugh at you. people judge you.
your feet hurt from walking around all day. your socks stick to your feet because you have to wear your shoes 24/7 out of fear someone will steal them while you're asleep. your clothes smell and your shower times are dictated by the opening hours of drop in centres.
doctors are impossible to find if you're don't have a lot of money(especially in the City) , your health deteriorates.
friends come and go, workers leave, sympathetic police move on, business' close & open, times change.
some would say deano was misunderstood. some would say he just didn't fit in our society. both of those things might be true although dean would never consider himself misunderstood & he certainly made himself fit in any situation he found himself in.
it's been pretty clear for the last few weeks though- since the tragic death of his brother- that deano had done his time here and it was time to go home.
on friday night he did.
dean williams 10/02/71 - 11/07/08
Friday, July 11, 2008
after care
about a year ago i had jaw surgery to help align my teeth. it wasn't that invasive although it was sore and (very) bruised & swollen for around a week.
for the entire recovery i stayed at my mums and was truly spoiled. i barely left the bed and had lovely home made soup & mashed up meals all through the day (just for the record, so did rupunzel, my dog, who was also staying with me).
this love & care made the recovery quick and somewhat bearable.
last night at around 11pm we came across a guy we know who 2 weeks ago was viciously & randomly stabbed by an ice-fuelled passer-by. he is 20 years old (although only looks 16) and has been transient since a family breakdown 5 years ago left him wandering the streets.
this young man - who to a passer by looks just like any other 16 year old enjoying a school holiday break - is homeless. he has no house, no family & other than the 614 community, no supports.
he was released from hospital the day after the stabbing but had no home to go to so went back to his squat in an abandoned building on the outskirts of the City - in reality, it's all he knows. he wasn't given enough pain relief and didn't have any money so got some street drugs on credit from a friend to ease his pain in the squat after leaving hospital - his first night after the stabbing was spent vomitting into a gutter.
last night he told me that he has to go back to hospital due to complications relating to the wounds as they got infected on leaving the hospital. he peeled back a dirty bandage to show me the red, inflamed stab wound, sighed, put the bandage back on, took the blanket & pie we gave him (we also were able to re-dress the wound) and headed back into his (previously) abandoned building.
home cooked meals? no. breakfast in bed? no. a bed? no. a mothers love? no.
after care?
for the entire recovery i stayed at my mums and was truly spoiled. i barely left the bed and had lovely home made soup & mashed up meals all through the day (just for the record, so did rupunzel, my dog, who was also staying with me).
this love & care made the recovery quick and somewhat bearable.
last night at around 11pm we came across a guy we know who 2 weeks ago was viciously & randomly stabbed by an ice-fuelled passer-by. he is 20 years old (although only looks 16) and has been transient since a family breakdown 5 years ago left him wandering the streets.
this young man - who to a passer by looks just like any other 16 year old enjoying a school holiday break - is homeless. he has no house, no family & other than the 614 community, no supports.
he was released from hospital the day after the stabbing but had no home to go to so went back to his squat in an abandoned building on the outskirts of the City - in reality, it's all he knows. he wasn't given enough pain relief and didn't have any money so got some street drugs on credit from a friend to ease his pain in the squat after leaving hospital - his first night after the stabbing was spent vomitting into a gutter.
last night he told me that he has to go back to hospital due to complications relating to the wounds as they got infected on leaving the hospital. he peeled back a dirty bandage to show me the red, inflamed stab wound, sighed, put the bandage back on, took the blanket & pie we gave him (we also were able to re-dress the wound) and headed back into his (previously) abandoned building.
home cooked meals? no. breakfast in bed? no. a bed? no. a mothers love? no.
after care?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
teary tuesday
those of you who have ever been into party drugs will well know the term 'teary tuesday'. it relates to the 'down' feeling you have on a tuesday having burnt all the 'happy chemicals' in your brain the preceding weekend.
this week i experienced a different kind of teary tuesday. in bourke street we came across a long term member of the 614 community who had been drugged up with heroin against his will by some drug pushers who stood over him for his money. he was starting to experience the agony of the heroin come down and had soiled his pants.
it was 10.30pm and there was no hope of finding him a bed and no-where for him to clean himself up. he was 'sobering up' from his drug-induced daze and coming to terms with the fact that he had a very cold & painful night ahead - we drove him to the park where he was going to sleep and gave him 2 cups of soup, a pie & some blankets. he then proceeded to pray for me and the other members of the outreach team, for our protection as we continued the rounds of street outreach... i left incredibly moved by this gesture from someone at his absolute lowest point in life.
it gave teary tuesday a whole new meaning.
this week i experienced a different kind of teary tuesday. in bourke street we came across a long term member of the 614 community who had been drugged up with heroin against his will by some drug pushers who stood over him for his money. he was starting to experience the agony of the heroin come down and had soiled his pants.
it was 10.30pm and there was no hope of finding him a bed and no-where for him to clean himself up. he was 'sobering up' from his drug-induced daze and coming to terms with the fact that he had a very cold & painful night ahead - we drove him to the park where he was going to sleep and gave him 2 cups of soup, a pie & some blankets. he then proceeded to pray for me and the other members of the outreach team, for our protection as we continued the rounds of street outreach... i left incredibly moved by this gesture from someone at his absolute lowest point in life.
it gave teary tuesday a whole new meaning.
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