She is a mystery. She runs a footrace from the corner of
Waterloo and Union but can’t catch Godot.
She bottles a letter every day that is carried away from the shore by
the rising tides but does not reach the other side of the harbour. She is Thunder Road’s saviour and we waste our
summers (and winters too) praying in vain for her to rise up from The Village’s
streets. I’ve never met her but I am
supposed to expect her and to wait for her today. As soon as she arrives I need to let Mick
know that she is there for him. Mick
does not know her name. He has not met
her. He does not know what she looks
like, how old she is, or what she will do when she arrives. She is coming, though. She is coming for him. She is coming to make everything better.
The first time Mick* talked about
her, I thought he was talking about his mother Kate*. Kate is a sweet woman, I’m guessing about my
mom’s age because Mick is about my age.
She calls me every so often, wanting to check on her son. I want to respect Mick’s privacy when I talk
to his mother, so I can only say things like, “I know he was ok the last time I
saw him around,” or, “No, he has never hit me and I don’t think he ever will,” and
offer to give him a message without confirming if he is actually here, how I
know him, or whether I will ever talk to him again. Kate understands the position I am in and
seems to appreciate the conversation, even though I have to go out of my way to
be vague. Lately, she doesn’t want to
leave a message by the end of the conversation.
She is afraid he will be angry when he hears her name.
Has anyone come to see me? A
woman maybe? You need to let her know I
am here and give me her message. Who Mick? Is she your mother? No. I don’t know.
Tell me if she calls. I have my stuff
for her. She might be here today. Did she send me any mail?
Mental health – particularly mental
illness – occupies a large portion of my working life. This is not a surprise. An effect of mental illness is sometimes the
horrible truth of homelessness. Mick is
not the only one of my guys who has a mental illness but, right now, his
illness is the most pronounced. I’ve
known Mick for about a year-and-a-half.
I haven’t seen him for several weeks; he is still one of my guys.
Mick does not always want to leave
the shelter in the morning. Let’s be
frank here. In the winter, few of my
guys want to leave the shelter but with Mick it seems like something different
is happening. He wakes up early but is
the last one to go to the shower, the last one to go to the breakfast window,
the last one to ask for his bin, and the last one to leave. Almost immediately after I met Mick for the
first time, it became apparent that he wanted to stay close by. He came to my office several times throughout
the day after the shelter closed that morning.
He wanted water. He wanted to
chat. He wanted to sit on an
armchair. Sometimes he wanted to talk to
me. Sometimes he wanted to talk to my
colleague Theresa. Sometimes he just
wanted to know if someone was going to open the door. The conversations were always mundane. After a couple of days of these interactions
I popped my head out the door a few times throughout the day. He was always within sight of the shelter,
seemingly minding his own business, hiding in plain sight. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t notice
him and nothing about him would indicate he is homeless. A few days after that, he came back to the
door. Theresa gave him the water that he
wanted. Instead of saying thanks, he
looked at her and said, “Just because I am articulate does not mean that I am alright.” We don’t really know what he meant by this,
but it was the first obvious sign that his mental health may have some complications. He disappeared for a few months after this,
came back, disappeared again, and came back again. He disappeared again at the beginning of the
winter and we haven’t seen him since.
The last time I talked to Mick was the same as every other time. Nothing made me think he wouldn’t come back
that night.
Has anyone come to see me? A
woman maybe? You need to let her know I
am here and give me her message. Who Mick? Does she work somewhere else? Has she helped you before? No. I don’t know.
Tell me if she calls. I have my
stuff for her. She might be here
today. Did she send me any mail
One of the things that concerns me
about Mick, and a few of the other guys that use the shelter, is that his
mental health prevents him from taking care of himself. The most obvious way that this is true is in
regards to his mental health itself. It
is not that he is choosing to not go to see a doctor. It is more that in his bones he knows that he
doesn’t need to see a doctor. Self-care
is also an issue with Mick’s physical safety.
In the summer and early fall, Mick is fine. You would walk past him and not have a second
thought. He’s in good shape. He looks healthy, like he eats right most of
the time, and maybe even works out a bit.
His flip flops and hoodie are not out of place on a Saint John street.
Mick does not like to be told what
to do. Few of my guys do. I get why.
People – professionals, family, random strangers on the street – tell
them how to fix everything that is wrong.
Everyone thinks they can solve their problems. Very few actually understand their
problems. At times I may be one of those
understanding very few but, honestly and more often than not, I am one of the
people on the other side of that line.
I’m not and have never been homeless.
I don’t and have never experienced the sorts of mental health struggles
many of my guys experience. At times,
the most and best I can do is offer a pair of gloves and a toque before my guys
face a winter morning. One day, though,
even that offer was too pushy or direct for Mick. He was emphatic. He did not want gloves. He did not want a toque to replace his ball
cap. He did not want a pair of shoes
with an entirely attached left sole. He
left every morning for days after refusing an offer of warmer clothes. This was different than when he wore his flip
flops in mid-November. I watched him
walk away from gloves and into a -10 degree morning while I prayed he would
eventually go to one of the other charities that have gloves tucked away for
such moments.
Has anyone come to see me? A
woman maybe? You need to let her know I
am here and give me her message. Who Mick? Does she have warmer clothes for you? No. I don’t know.
Tell me if she calls. I have my
stuff for her. She might be here today. Did she send me any mail?
Mental health – mental wellness,
even – is a solid foundation.
Conversely, mental illness can be a significant barrier for people. Both of these sentences become even more
critical when a person is homeless. For
Mick, mental illness is a barrier. It
may be too strong to say that his mental health is absolutely the reason that
he is not able to find and maintain safe and affordable housing; it is
certainly not too strong to say that his mental health makes it much more
difficult.
More than a month ago, Mick asked
one of the overnight crew if he could talk to me. This was new.
He never wanted to talk to me before; he didn’t ever seem to really want
to talk to anyone. He only talks when
there is no other way to accomplish whatever he needs to accomplish. He rarely initiates a conversation and,
except for those first few meetings a couple summers ago, there is never idle
chit chat with Mick. Whenever he did
engage with me, he always looked at me like he was suspicious that I was honest
with him. I set up a time to meet with
him, curious as to what he wanted to discuss.
He told me he wanted to talk about getting somewhere to live. I did not expect this, but maintained a
straight face to hide my excitement. The
previous conversations I had with him about housing were initiated by me. The first went badly. We sat down to do a housing assessment
interview and he refused to answer 13 of the 15 questions, getting
progressively more angry every time a question was asked. I didn’t bother asking the two remaining
questions. One was “Are you homeless,”
and the other was about how he accessed showers, laundry, and toilets. The fact that he stayed at the shelter
answered both of those questions for me, so it seemed useless and mean-spirited
to even bring them up. The next very few
conversations we had, also initiated by me, were along of the lines of, “Hey
Mick. Can we talk about getting you a
place,” answered with an irritated, “I have my own plan,” from Mick. This meeting was different. Mick was coherent and clear spoken, not a
surprise, but everything he said fit within the conversation we were having, a
big surprise. We had progress. He said he may be willing to join a
low-barrier housing program. I promised
to make the right calls for him.
Then, “Can I ask you a question,
Tony?”
“Sure.”
“Are you with the FBI? Am I talking to the FBI right now?”
“I promise you that I am not the
FBI.” He said he believed me. That is not entirely true because he asked
one of the overnight guys the same question the day before and another one the
same question a couple days later.
Has anyone come to see me? A
woman maybe? You need to let her know I
am here and give me her message. Who Mick? Does she have somewhere for you to live? No. I don’t know.
Tell me if she calls. I have my
stuff for her. She might be here today. Did she send me any mail?
Responding to mental health needs
that people have is difficult at our shelter.
I am biased, most certainly, but I think we offer a good shelter in
Saint John. We operate on a “modified-wet”
model, which means that someone can be drunk, stoned, or high when they arrive
(though we would wish sobriety for all of our guests) but they commit to not
using in our building. Most of the guys
honour this commitment most of the time and we believe in a God of grace so we
build in second, third, and four-hundred-and-ninetieth chances to this
model. We also have several guests
(guests always, never clients) that have one or more mental illnesses. Our staff have tremendous compassion for
these men. That said, our staff are brilliant
men’s shelter attendants instead of brilliant mental-health or addiction
professionals. My dream is that one day
soon there will be easily accessible mental health care available for my guys
at the shelter.
I don’t know where Mick is right now. He’s left for long periods of time in the
past and I’ve heard rumours that he was arrested, so I am not exactly worried
about him being stuck out in what seems to be a particularly cold January. One of the oddities about my career becomes
apparent when I hear that someone is in jail and I feel an immediate sense of
relief that he is OK. This is a feeling
I did not even consider having prior to when I began working with homeless men
in 2012. We rely on the help of others –
police, social workers, and health care providers mostly – to help keep Mick
and others in similar situations safe.
Has anyone come to see me? A
woman maybe? You need to let her know I
am here and give me her message. Who Mick? Will she help you Mick?
Mick hasn’t answered me yet.
---
Outflow Ministry works to
improve the lives of the 19.4% of Saint John citizens who live in
poverty. The work it does addresses the unemployment, hunger,
homelessness, and medical costs of people in Saint John and strives to reduce
each. Its work is deeply motivated
by faith in Jesus Christ and his lordship. With each aspect of its work
then, Outflow wants to help these Saint John residents know that they have a
place not only in their city but also in the Kingdom of God.
To support Outflow Ministry, please visit www.outflowsj.com or call (506) 658-1344.
*Mick and Kate are real people, but
I’ve changed their names and enough detail in this story to conceal their
identities.
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