Saying goodbye is one thing I am
terrible at. I suppose it has to do with my dislike of outpouring of emotion-
which would probably be another post all into itself. There are the basic
components of saying goodbye that are expected- the hug, the promises to keep
in touch, the smile plastered on your face even if your heart is breaking. One
shining example of my goodbye deficit was when I was graduating from my undergraduate
program in Burlington, Vermont. I had a
mentor whose name was Bob . Bob happened to be the President of the college,
and I adored him. I would go to school early most days to see both him and my
beloved advisor, Anna. He had all the traits I admired most; highly intelligent,
compassionate, a strong leader, and a champion of rights for all living things.
Bob also served as my senior thesis facilitator. I remember getting my dissertation back marked
with so much red on it looked like the pages were bleeding. The comment that I
will never forget was scribbled in the side margin- it said “the writing is bourgeois”.
I think I may have cried a little over that comment, but I have always kept it
in the back of my head and tapered and edited my documents down to what they
need to be to convey my message, not to stroke my ego. Like most things he
said, his feedback was honest and unforgettable.
So when graduation day came and it
was time to say goodbye, I did what made the most sense to my silly 21 year old
mind… I simply didn’t go. To this day, I count it as a mistake. I didn’t want
to say goodbye, because I was moving out of state the next week and I wanted to
avoid the pain in the moment. As with most things that provide instant relief, I
fixed the temporary by breaking the long term. It was the action of immaturity-
the advent of Facebook has let me express my gratitude to my beloved advisor
many times, but I lost the perfect opportunity to communicate in real time. A
small event to be sure, but it has affected me enough to try to get past myself
and take advantage of every opportunity to tell people what they mean to you. I
was lucky. Some people never have the chance to go back and say goodbye.
I tell this story to bring me to
another. As a Social Worker, termination starts at the beginning. It is
understood that if you do your job right, the goodbye is the most important
part of the process. Instead of being bitter, a Social Worker’s goodbye hopefully
means success. However, I am not a direct practice Social Worker anymore, and I
forget to build in goodbye. At The Firehouse, we see hundreds of men a day. In
and out, our programs are always humming. The very best part of my day is
pulling up outside of the shelter, with the day new and my coffee still warm in
my cup, and seeing who is outside of the shelter. Most every day I get to see
the guys from housing attending the morning meeting. If I hit it just right, by
the time I get out of the car I am holding a conversation with someone across 3rd
Avenue- waving and yelling our morning pleasantries. For the last few months,
there has been a very special face to greet me just about every morning. I will
call him Joe. Joe was referred to me by
a member of the community who had observed him living on the streets of
Southside for a very long time. He has a gamut of issues, none of which were
being addressed, and this community member was very worried about his poor
physical health and apparent addiction issues. I sent my street outreach team
to go check on him, and after a few days he agreed to come into the shelter.
Since that day, we have had ups and
downs with Joe. Joe is not ready to seek treatment, but our shelter staff has
worked with him on adhering to rules so that he can keep receiving shelter. The
staff has been very forgiving as Joe has struggled to transition from living on
the streets to being in a program. Together with a wonderful community advocate,
he has received some health care and has attended many recovery meetings. Even
with his limitations, Joe has helped with tasks around the building and I have
begun to notice an improvement in hygiene. Joe is a gracious and kind man, and
always opened the door for whoever was entering the building. In a few months, Joe has become part of my daily
routine.
On Thursday, I was informed Joe was
accepted into a permanent housing apartment effective Friday. All the hard work
has paid off. If not for intervention, Joe may have very well died on the
streets. He was close when we started working with him, sitting and drinking
for days in extremely soiled clothes with no care whatsoever. As of Friday,
this gentleman has a home, and I had to say goodbye. I gave Joe a hug, and
helped him get a reference for some furniture. When Joe told me that that his housing
application was accepted, his face was lit with the joy that only a man who has
been lost for a very long time and then found can have. When people have a
home, their demeanor changes- every person needs a little piece of this big
world to call their own. When someone doesn’t have that little piece of
ownership, they are anchorless. Joe got his anchor, and I am so proud of
everyone involved.
As for me, I said goodbye. I felt a
little guilty, because I am going to MISS him. But the truth is, as The
Firehouse continues to help end homelessness, goodbyes are going to keep
coming. The only thing I can do is express my appreciation to these men as they
leave to start the next chapter of their lives, for without them, I surely
would believe this world to be a much bleaker place than it is. Life is funny. Sometime the beginning is only starting when the last goodbye is said.
