Shelter

It’s late October, the trees have lost their leaves and cold crisp wind is blowing across grey skies as I start my trusty old BMW and turns on the heat. I glance at myself in the rear view mirror and sigh not my best look, but it will have to do, I think, as I plug my phone into the aux cord and tune into the local radio station.

I’m still getting used to the schedule that came with the job at the women’s shelter in the city, in order to be there for the 7am start time I now wake at 5 and am on the road precisely at 5:45. I’ve only been working there a few weeks but am enjoying the work, this is after all, what I went to university for.

Not that the pay would cover the student loans.

The weather man on the radio is calling for a day of strong winds and cold rain, and sure enough, drops begin to patter on her windshield. I turn on the heated seat and pull away from cozy old house and head out towards the highway.

The trip to the city takes an hour and most consider this too far to commute, however, rents in the city have skyrocketed, far past what I feels is affordable, and I takes comfort in the stability I’ve been able to obtain in the village. The cost of everything has gone up in the past few years, housing, food, gas. Its all done nothing but increase, meanwhile wages and government assistance have not, and the shelters have been busy.

While I drive the morning news comes on, and there is a debate about MERCY, the new health program introduced by the government to assist bring about the end of life to end one’s suffering. At first it had only been meant for those who were suffering a slow death from terminal incurable illness, but slowly more and more reasons have been added to the list.

"Why should anyone be forced to continue living if they feel life has become unbearable and they see no relief in sight?" Says the health minister "it truly is a mercy to allow them to opt for MERCY, who are we to deny them that?" The debate has turned the poor and those with mental illness.

As I turn into the city and begin my route downtown I begin to pass tents, some randomly next to the road, in the past few homelessness has skyrocketed and its become common to see encampments near the freeway, and the train tracks running criss-cross all over the city have become a tent suburb.

Drug use is rampant, and only gotten worse since the government decided to give the addicts their rent money rather send it directly to the landlords, with very predictable results.

They were evicted, and then the rents on those units were raised, as were the income requirements to even be eligible for application approval.

I am 2 blocks from the shelter, the rain is really coming down now, when a woman suddenly steps out onto the street a few feet in front of me, i slam on my breaks and hit my horn, she doesn’t even seem to notice the commotion she's causing as she shambles across the street, having an animated discussion with someone only she can see.

Drivers exchange annoyed glances at each other, waiting for the woman to shuffle by, before proceeding along their way.

Its jarring to see someone in such a state, but its become so common it no longer raises alarm. A whole industry has been created around addiction, and the maintaining of it, no MERCY for those souls, who strive for it daily, only to be resuscitated just in time by some well meaning outreach worker.

I pull into the shelter parking lot with 4 minutes to spare, as I walk up to the building I observe a tall light skinned woman standing near the doors. She’s almost regal in her appearance, while also disheveled, her clothes are wet from the rain and she's shivering. “Hey! Hey do you work here?” she asks as I approach the door. “I do, yes”  Her face brightens hopefully “I’ve been trying to get a bed for weeks now, they keep telling me its full and to come back, but there’s never a bed...if there’s any openings can you please....I’ll be right here waiting, I’ve been waiting...”

I smile at her, and ask her name so i can check the wait list when I get up to the unit “I’m Viola, I’ve called and came by every day”  I smile in resignation and agree to come get her if a bed opens up, then key in the code and enter the shelter.

Upstairs, a pass key gets me through the doors and into the main office where the previous shifts staff are waiting to do shift change.

During shift change I am advised that several beds had opened up, any unusual activity that had occurred overnight is discussed, the night shift staff leave and now its just me and Renee, on shift for the next 12 hrs.

“So, I ran into a woman downstairs who should be on the list, she said she’s been trying every day to get a bed” I grab the list and start to scan it, sure enough her name is there. “What's her name?” asks Renee

“Viola” I say, reaching for the phone to dial the downstairs intercom

“Wait! Viola? I dunno Iris, she's been here before and was kicked out for threatening staff, and she's honestly frightening, I don’t know what she’s on but its not good”

I look at Renee, with her nice clothes, decent job, safe home and loving husband who also earns an income, and raise an eyebrow. 

“I’m giving her a bed” I push the button and call down, hoping she’s still near the main door “Hello? Viola? Are you there?” I ask

I can hear footsteps, then she comes into frame on the security camera “Yes! Yes, I’m here!”

“It’s your lucky day girl, you got a bed, I’ll buzz you up”

I look steadily at Renee as I push the button to unlock the doors “She deserves a chance, its raining, she’s cold and probably hungry. I’ll do her intake and make sure she understands the rules, if she gets unruly, then she loses her bed, ok?”

Renee shrugs her shoulders and sighs “Fine. I’m going to unlock the kitchens for breakfast, I’ll do meds while you do the intake.” She's disappearing down the corridor as the elevator wheezes to our floor and open to reveal Viola, who’s smile lights up her face, and again I get a glimpse of something noble about her, and I smile in return as I beckon her to follow me into the intake room.

I get her settled with a blanket and a hot cup of fresh coffee, and reach for her file “So, you’ve been here before?” its both a question and a statement, her eyes widen in surprise “I have? I suppose maybe I have...” she looks into the corner, searching for the memory “I have been everywhere” she says finally “I had a home once, a nice home, on St. Clair, and I had a cat” I frown, “St.Clair? In Toronto?” she nods with her whole body “With my mother, she’s gone now, died I suppose” I look in her very short file, she’s 52, no health card, no last known address “I’ve been everywhere since, I’m in Saskatchewan now.... I think”

I nod, “Yes, you are. How long have you been here? Have you been assigned a worker yet?” She thinks for a moment “The snow was melting and then it got warm...but its getting cold again....” she trails off staring at the wall behind me, then tilts her head as if listening intently “Yes yes, better than Winnipeg” she says, seemingly to someone I can't see.

She has a plastic grocery bag clutched tightly in her lap, and I nod at it “Do you have any ID, anything at all? A worker?” she starts to rummage through the bag, pulling out trinkets and paper, before finally handing over an Ontario health card “Just this, its no good here” she passes it to me and her body begins to wave gently back and forth.

“This is a start, Viola...” I look at the card “Watson. Viola Watson, that’s a lovely name” I pass her the paperwork and a pen “Can you fill this out? If you cant answer all the questions, its fine. I’ll see if i can find you some clean clothes and then we will get you set up, alright?” She nods “Yes, yes I can do that, expediently!” she proclaims, and pulls a pair of blue reading glasses out her bag and perches them on her nose and smiles.

As I rummage through the donations in the essentials room I ponder our new intake, she doesn’t seem dangerous, and there is an intelligence in her eyes, but her mind seems fragmented. I wonder if she needs meds, perhaps, and decide to make a note to mention it to our RN when she comes by.

I return to the intake office and Viola hands me the paperwork, filled out in perfect delicate handwriting.

The phones are starting to ring, others looking for a bed.

I quickly go through the rules and expectations, tell her not to miss curfew if she leaves, and to come to me if she has any issues, and walk her down the hall and hand her a key to her room.

I pass her the clothes and essentials kit, and show her where the showers are, where the kitchen is, and leave her to get settled in.

The shelter residents are waking up now, shuffling towards the med door, lining up for their morning doses. Renee looks up as I enter “We have the last two beds filled while you were doing Viola’s intake, she’s weird eh?” She’s got the med cabinet open and is organizing the little cups of pills, almost all of them contain a little orange pill, Quieting, and I wonder briefly how everyone and their dog seems be on this particular medication, aptly named, they seem to calm down and go into a semi trance like state after taking it.

“I think Viola might be schizophrenic, I don’t think it’s drugs” I say in response, as I write her name on the RN’s ‘to see’ list. Renee shrugs indifferently “I started files for the other two intakes this morning, they're on your desk”

While Renee begins to hand out morning meds, I sit at my desk, files in front of me, and look out the window. The rain has turned to snowflakes, and on the ground I can see it’s sticking.

I am reminded that winter is coming, and shiver reflexively, picking up the files, one is what we call a frequent flyer, her file is thick, Maria, her intake will be quick; she knows the drill.

The other file is new and thin, Barb, 69, widow. I am wondering what her story is when the buzzer sounds, i check the cameras as i answer, a little old lady is standing there with her suitcase “I’m Barb, I was told there’s a bed” she says, and I buzz her up.

Barb is small woman with short curled hair, her clothes are clean and she looks like shes about to board a plane, as she enters the common area she glances nervously at the other residents, and seems very out of place. I greet her with a smile and lead her to the intake room “Would you like some coffee Barb?” I offer, but she declines “I’ve already had quite a bit of coffee this morning, I’ve been up since 5”

“That’s an early start to the day” I say as I take my spot and pick up her sparse file “So, how did you end up here?” I ask her.

She sighs heavily and sinks lower into the arm chair “I never thought it would come to this” she says softly, eyes beginning to water “You see, my husband died last summer, and we were together 40 years! 40 years....He worked and I raised the children, I never had to work....” tears are falling down her wrinkled cheeks now “I had to sell the house, and I moved into a low income seniors unit” I nod sympathetically, giving her space to tell her story.

“Last winter it was so cold, and I enjoy the occasional cigarette, see? I usually go out on the balcony but the door was frozen shut, so.....I smoked in my unit” she says, “and they caught me, they gave me a warning but they didn’t fix the balcony door” her voice is thick with indignation now “and the next thing you know, they evicted me! Over a little wine and a cigarette!”

She begins to cry in earnest now “I’m so stupid! I thought I could find a new place easily, but it’s not, it’s not easy! I’ve been living in a hotel, and thank god a bed opened up here, there’s nothing left in my savings and OAS only pays once a month, its not a lot. I thought I was going to have to sleep on a bench or something tonight”

I am horrified, to imagine, having spent your life solidly in the middle class, and to end up homeless at 69. “It’s alright, luckily you’re here now, and we will help you find a place” I pass her the paperwork “Can you fill this out? Do you need essentials? Shampoo and what not?” I ask her. She looks surprised “Oh no, no, I have what I need right here” she indicates to her suitcase and reaches for the paperwork.

As she fills out the paperwork I quickly browse seniors rentals, anything half decent is ridiculously expensive, anything even remotely affordable looked sketchy, they all required applicants have 3x the rent in monthly income. I sigh. This income requirement thing should apply to seniors, I think as I browse. Getting her housed on her income will be a challenge.

The shelter is buzzing with activity now, as the women sit and chat in the common area, the smell of burnt toast wafts down the hall as I lead Barb to her room, showing her the showers and the kitchen along the way. Viola is in the kitchen, its her toast that’s burnt, but she is happily spreading jam on it and smiles that big smile at us as we pass.

I show Barb to her room, and leave her to get settled.

When I get back to the office, the RN is there looking over her “to see” list “Iris?” she asks “Who’s Viola?” I give her a quick run down, and let her know my suspicion  “I think I’ve met her before, at the other shelter” she says “They were supposed to get her a health card, did they?” I shake my head “They apparently did not, all she had was an old Ontario health card” the RN frowns “She needs Sask ID, try and see if she has any mail to a Sask address, anything at all, ok?” I nod, understanding.

A person needs to have lived here 3 months before they can apply for Sask Health, which would cover the injection should my guess be right.

Throughout the day I focus on the steps needed to get Viola Id, and start calling rentals for Barb. Maria shows up eventually and gratefully takes her room “I wont be here long, I have a place lined up for next week” she says confidently. I nod and leave her to get settled.

The day passes quickly and before I knew it the sun had gone down and my shift was at its end, outside the temperature had dropped and the snow had stuck, I sit in my car a good 10 minutes while it warms up, grateful for the heated seats.

As I drive through downtown and pass people camped out on sidewalks, I am washed with a wave of sadness, it wasn’t always like this. When I was growing up, even the poor and addicted had homes.

When did having a roof over your head become a luxury?

I think of Jane, and despite how difficult she can be, am glad she isn’t out wandering the streets.

The highway is covered in ice, and I can feel a slight shudder, but I can’t tell if its a problem with my car or just from the biting cold wind. It’s been a long day, I am far too tired to deal with auto problems right now, so I tell myself it’s just the wind.

Eventually I arrive home, the old house looks cozy, lights twinkling off the fresh snow.

I go inside and am greeted by my sons, it’s now nearly 8:30pm, and they are hungry. They are well old enough to feed themselves, but I go to the kitchen and start making supper anyways, as they gather in the kitchen and I tell them about my day, and they tell me about theirs. We eat a late night supper then make our way to our beds, where I lay wondering if I am neglecting my sons because of a job.