By Nana M., Contributing Columnist
Surreal…an out-of-body experience…can’t really be happening to me. I wandered around near my old home in southeast Portland, searching for a likely place to lay my sleeping bag, thinking that at almost 57 years old, my arthritic body does not respond well to sleeping on the cold ground. The youngsters refer to it as ‘camping’; for me, a fun day outdoors has always consisted of a day hike, followed by a night at the Four Seasons Hotel, with a hot shower and Jacuzzi. I’ve always tried to be a kind person, raised my daughter alone while my ex-husband ran away to Australia to avoid paying child support, returned to college at age 34 after working two jobs as a waitress to support us, then raising two grandchildren for ten years, and devoted myself to the citizens of Portland working as a social servant. Isn’t this supposed to buy me some Karmic points??
After I wallowed in pity for a bit, I realized that I am where I am, so how do I begin extricating myself from this situation? And exactly what was the recipe for disaster that landed me here? One part dysfunctional family issues, three parts medical, including physical, emotional and mental health, financial problems following a lay-off, and issues with my neighbors that I could not work out. Ultimately, I was laid off at the end of November and became homeless by the end of January. I began living in motels, spending all of my unemployment checks there, and began taking out payday loans to supplement for the other expenses. Eventually, the minute my check hit the bank electronically, all of it was whisked back out to pay the loan, and I was left with no money for shelter.
On my journey in the streets, I have met the very best and worst of humankind. I was extraordinarily lucky that the violence was limited to being spat upon, urinated on, called ‘dirty’ and other names in more than one language, and having all of my belongings sprayed with some type of harsh chemical while I used the bathroom at The Cheerful Tortoise. (Incidentally, PSU is my alma mater, and I often ate there while studying for finals, so if you are the students in question, please be aware that the people you see on the street probably have far more things in common with you than differences.) I believe that life would have been much worse for me had I not had my service animal, as folks are very territorial about the places they choose to sleep, and I began to understand this concept after being asked to leave several places, and having all of my belongings soaked with three-way sprayers in others. I met a very kind police officer who had arrived at Creston Park to investigate a group of kids who had scaled the fence to partake of the swimming pool. It was about 3 a.m., no more buses running, and he kindly did not run me off, seeing that all of my stuff, including me and the dog, were saturated. That same early morning, a different officer came by, wanting to know if that was really my dog, and laughed at me. I had experienced that same question earlier by a little boy, who could not conceive that the dog could be mine, as he could only visualize me in the current snapshot of time. I could expect that from the mind of a child, but was stunned by the lack of vision from a police officer. I guess that as with any agency, there are all levels of intelligence and compassion.
While I would never ask for money, there were folks who offered it, and usually at times when I was most in need. Most memorable for his kindness is the man who ran to catch up with me at the McDonald’s near PSU. His words were very healing at a time when I had begun to feel that a “bag lady” was who I was, rather than my current circumstance. He folded a $20 bill into my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, “I am so sorry that you are in this situation.” My eyes filled with tears, and all I could do was nod and say thank you. Sir, if you are reading this article, please know how much those words meant. I had begun to feel less than human, and you reminded me that it was indeed a circumstance in my life, not who I was as a person. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, Barbara Harrison paid for a night’s stay at Motel Six from her own pocket. She could have had the attitude, as many would, that it would be a waste of money, I would only be in the same situation the following night. Instead, for that night at least, I was safe.
My housing angel turned out to be Brad Taylor with JOIN, who responded to the telephone call I made during a meltdown. We did not connect on that occasion, but a few months later, I wandered into the JOIN office, seeking information about local resources, and by some miracle, Brad was at the front desk, remembered my story, and was able to get me into housing by the end of August, just a few days before our record monsoon.
Local social services such as Catholic Charities Housing Connections, SAFES, and Rose Haven allowed me a place to catch my breath, get a shower and change of clothing, and most importantly, gain awareness that I was not alone. These organizations allow people to maintain some sense of dignity. For those who are considering where to contribute to assist homeless people, I encourage you to support these organizations, as well as JOIN.