We were at the second to last stop of our weekly water distribution and I was counting the cases left for the last group. A woman stood beside me, wondering if we could offer a little more water or fruit. I mentioned the group ahead of us and how much they had grown recently, as I figured out how to separate the last of what remained in the trunk. “Someone died there yesterday,” she said. My stomach clenched, “Who?!” I asked.
My mind flashed to the face of the person at that site that we knew best, someone who exuded joy, in defiance of her grim surroundings. She uplifted us whenever we spoke with her. We had been bringing her water since we started, which she shared with those around her. She kept the area near her tent astoundingly clean. I learned that she brought all the trash that was used or dumped near her to a site across the street and then she would call the City to come and pick it up, in hopes that the cleanliness around her space would prevent them from sweeping her away, again. She had been swept already earlier in the year, and lost many of her belongings, including her art supplies. I had offered many times that she come to my studio to create, and we kept trying to set it up. Just two days ago, it had fallen through again…But there were many people at that site now. If there was a death, most likely, it was someone new that I didn’t know yet. No less awful, but at least less personal.
It wasn’t someone else. It was her. Three people standing around the car confirmed it. It had happened just a day ago. We left in shock and headed to the last site with a sense of disbelief and horror. We delivered the water and fruit, and made our way to the candle memorial placed against the cement wall beside her tent. We spoke with her neighbors and signed the card on the wall.
Members of our group who support people who are unhoused see so many deaths –every month it seems, sometimes even more. Why? Because we don’t have enough housing nor the will to build it. Because people say “not in my back yard!” Because the costs of building are high, though we spend plenty on other things. Because too many of us blame people who are unhoused for their condition rather than point the finger back on ourselves for making policy choices that create a shortage of a basic need. Because a better off person’s fear of the poor routinely destroys the actual safety of someone who is poor. Because too many who are housed separate our existence from those we’ve unhoused. Housed friends, know your unhoused neighbors. Know their names and voices, the way they talk and move, just as you do with any friend. When we know our neighbors, we can stop being afraid, can see how sacred the life before us is. We need to be together as a community to make choices that end this.
We lost someone so beautiful, and we didn’t need to.