Goodbye

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 3^rd 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.