Moments in a Year pt. 3

The scene shifts. I am next to the body of a man as my coworker gives him mouth-to-mouth. His face is a waxy, purplish blue. His chest is wooden, and he is completely unresponsive. EMTs rush to us and lift him onto a gurney, then begin performing chest compressions.  I hold my coworker close as she weeps. The feeling of a knife cutting through the gut at the thought that, despite successfully reversing many overdoses before this, we had failed at this moment, another face to put on the walls of smiling memories. Just like that, we were standing next to the shell of someone who had once been someone’s son. Someone’s brother or maybe father. The smile, gone. The laughter, gone. And just like that, a life melted away amongst the trash and cement, in a mass of humanity, part of a cold, unforgiving city. 

The days are much shorter now and darker. Clouds hang low, both literally and figuratively. For so many, it's the knowledge that, despite the present times of family gatherings and joyous occasions for the holidays, they will simply be trying to survive for another day, haunted by regret and 'what-ifs'. I am standing outside the building waiting for a ride home. A familiar face comes up to me and begins whispering to me, 'I promise to keep it a secret. I promise I will not tell anyone. You guys are the only family I have. Could I please spend Christmas with you and your wife? I don't want to be alone...' Can you ever harden yourself enough in a moment like that?

It’s a gamble whether it will be raining, snowing, or just a cold wind that cuts like a razor. People are harder to find. Between the pandemic and the constant pressure from cops continuously doing sweeps, the forgotten people have slipped further into the cracks of the city—the frustration of building rapport and connection with them, and just like that, the opportunity is gone—the feelings of failure, defeat, and inability to do more plague the mind like a cancerous tumor. A person walks up to where we are and gently tells us that they are so grateful for what we do. So many times, these hidden people want to offer something of worth, but it's not money. It's not the comforts of technology or material wealth. It's an earnest acknowledgement of gratitude. They can express their appreciation to us, and their gratitude is reciprocated. It's the simple gesture of an embrace. It's the ability to smile despite the odds being stacked against them. It is these moments that are held gently and preciously close...  The faces slowly pass by. Faces of people. These faces are not of those who have been labeled as forgotten. No, these are the faces of people whom we have lovingly called friends. These are the faces of people with whom we have laughed and joked. These are the faces of those we cried with and, eventually, at times, mourned for. The faces are of those who, with a blink of an eye, were ripped from our world without a chance to say goodbye. A chance for one last laugh. A chance for one last hug. Did we know that the moment was a foreshadowing for one of our own, on our team? Could our hearts handle it?

In so many ways, there is a yearning that somehow the year could end magically, that somehow the wounds of the year would be bandaged and healed. Those who are unsheltered suddenly are sheltered. Those who are cold are suddenly warm. Those who are hungry are suddenly without the pangs of hunger. Those who use drugs would no longer be treated like monsters and criminals destined to die like wild animals on the cold streets of Boston...

And so the years have passed since 2020 as have the faces. There is a pride in the wounds that were bandaged and lives that we journeyed with. We were changed though, never to be the same. Did we know what the next year would bring, or the year after that? Small we were but fiercely tall we stood...