Friends
Grieve the Passing of a Homeless Man
By Leslie Reynolds-Benns,
www.lesliereynoldsbenns.com
We made our way down the muddy path through some
bushes and trees to the river bank. Chuck's
[the deceased] dog, Lucy, cowered near his tent,
which was still set up. Less than four feet
high in the center, it was open and showed old
newspapers as insulation against the ground and
looked to have sleeping space for two or maybe
three. Some homeless workers were present,
along with a few friends of the deceased.
There were twelve in all.
I remember Sandy, in her late forties or early
fifties, the worn looking woman who took Chuck into
her home for his last few weeks; her obviously
bereaved son; another woman in a green jacket about
Sandy's age; and the fourth, a long-time friend of
Chuck's, who was holding a fishing pole, a cap, and
a half-gallon Vodka bottle filled with Chuck's
ashes.
Father Ron was introduced as a "friend of the
homeless, who works hard to help people living in
poverty."
Father Ron began the service:
"It is my privilege to be here, today. Last
year we buried Virgil, who froze to death. And
it seems like every year something happens to some
of our homeless friends. And we dare not
forget. We have two things in this life,
essentially memory and hope. You have to have
both of them, and to keep them intact, so that you
can make it day by day."
Before he went on, he invited the small group of
congregants to speak, noting that all were present
for different reasons and different motivations.
"Chuck was my friend. I'd known him for
about two years," began Ed, who drove the
Homeless Outreach van. "I enjoyed his
honesty with life. He was doing what he wanted
to do, and I'm sure he's doing what he wants to do,
now." He recounted some memories of Chuck
and Mike Leavitt, Utah's Governor, teaching the
governor how to fish. "He wasn't
aware that it was the governor," quipped Ed, to
the audience's laughter.
"Chuck was stubborn as all get out, at
times," resumed Ed, reflecting on his
unwillingness to come in for shelter or for medical
aid. "But he'd always want to tell you a
story, always had a smile and a handshake for you.
I know that Chuck has found a fishing hole
someplace."
The woman in the green jacket, showing appreciation
for Ed's remarks added: "That sums it up.
Yep, Chuck liked to fish. He was a fishing
fool. He was out here for months straight on
the peak of the river. Did nothing but
fish." Then, her tone softened.
"He was very loved," she said.
"I'll miss him."
"Well, hopefully, in heaven," commented
Jeff St. Romain, the local head of Volunteers for
America. "They don't give tickets out for
fishing with two fishing poles." The
crowd laughed at this inside joke about Chuck's
problems with the law. "Three
allowed!" Jeff continued. "He had a
great sense of humor."
"I've known Chuck for about four and a half
years, now," said Pamela, the organizer of this
event. "He and Lucy. He reminded me
that they came as a package. What I loved most
about Chuck was his openness and frankness.
What you saw you got. He didn't play games,
and he didn't mince words. You knew exactly
where you stood with him, what he needed, and what
he thought about things. I loved the twinkle
in his eye. I loved his sense of humor.
Even when he was in the hospital and very sick, he
still kept his sense of humor."
The keeper of the ashes spoke through tears:
"In the ten years since I've known Chuck, he's
been my friend, my brother, sometimes my father and
even my grandfather. He loved the outdoors:
fishin', children and vodka, not necessarily in that
order." This delighted the audience.
"He didn't get a chance to do all he
wanted," he concluded. "But there's
nothin' he wouldn't do for a friend."
"Chuck was my friend, too," said Sandy's
son. "Mostly just a fishin' partner, but
he turned out to be a lot more. And I love
that man, is all I can say." He broke
down at the end of his remarks.
He was followed by his mother's comments:
"I loved Chuck. Chuck was my friend for
four years, and my son's friend--dear friend to him.
I'm going to miss him. He did say he'd be
waitin' in heaven, though."
At the end of the service, we all went over to the
riverbank, and Chuck's friend scattered his ashes
from the Vodka bottle into the river, threw in a
baseball cap on which was written, "Help, I've
fallen and can't get up," followed by his
fishing pole.
Excerpted from Street People, Case Histories of
the Homeless
www.gratitudepress.com
Dr Leslie Reynolds-Benns, PhD, author,
most recently of Confession is Good for More
than the Soul. Speaker, trainer, workshop leader,
community activist and wedding officiator.
Sign up for a FR*E*E
4-part mini e-course - CREATING YOUR OWN REALITY
- at http://www.lesliereynoldsbenns.com
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