A Damn Shame

I wrote this note yesterday when I was at work. Every time one of my guys or girls relapses it does hurt a bit. So I write something down about it and then I let it go. Here's one from yesterday.

Today should have been one of the worst days of Mr. Veteran’s life. He had been discovered drinking the day before he was supposed to leave for his daughter’s wedding.

For a moment when I walked in to the room to get my morning coffee I felt that perhaps this would be a day of reckoning for him. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, and he expressed worry about what would happen next. A month before I had taken him, myself, to a homeless shelter to sit and listen to a reading of names of those who were living on the streets, who had died in the past year. He was obviously uncomfortable. He had never been on the streets, but said to me that he’d used up the last of his resources. If he failed this time he would end up here with the drunks who came up to me, one moment in tears, the next in a jovial mood to tell me how many fights they’d been in. He also told me that if he were ever on the streets, he would surely die. He would surely end it, himself.

Later on when he seemed fine, and got permission from his poor daughter whose wedding he will surely ruin to come visit anyways, I realized that this, his seventh relapse, would be erased from his consciousness like all the other important moments when he should have learned some kind of lesson from his pain. He’s going to depend on his daughter to house him and she won’t have the strength to say no, or otherwise he’ll be on the streets.

This week is a record breaking cold week in Anchorage. For the past seven days it hasn’t reached above zero temperatures.