Here we present another story from Looking At The Stars, a splendid new anthology of Irish writing in aid of Dublin Simon Community. Edited by Kerrie O'Brien, the formidable list of contributors include Anne Enright, Kevin Barry, Belinda McKeon and Paul Muldoon. Only 1000 copies of the anthology have been printed - they cost €15 each, with the full €15 going directly to Dublin Simon Community. Copies are available directly from Books Upstairs.
From Looking At The Stars, we present this moving piece of new non-fiction from Independent Senator Lynn Ruane,
Stories of human connection in a sea of Rosie’s Dew.
What exactly happens to a person’s wants and needs when they are in a constant flow of pain? We all know that every human deserves a place to call home. A place to call your own is a basic need. However, as a society, we need to nourish the soul of those who have become acclimatised to their own pain, beyond just bricks and mortar. How can we penetrate past the twenty years of self-medication or the child abuse etched not only in their minds but in the very fibre of their being if we don’t try to do so? After having spent half of my life as a community worker and working with people on the fringes of society, I have learnt that to help them, you have to step into their space with them, engage with them face to face as human beings and connect.
The residents of the homeless accommodation in which I worked had all experienced pain. Love, caring about being wanted or being attractive falling down the list of needs and survival taking the top spot. As someone in a position of authority, I constantly thought about how to maintain that authority and keep boundaries with the residents I worked with while also being able to judge a situation. That being said, there were rare moments where I was able to connect with them in a way that I’ll never forget. I want to tell the stories of a number of beautiful interactions with some amazing men that allowed me into their hearts and allowed me to exist there alongside their trauma. It may have been only momentarily but they happened and they have stuck with me to this day.
To Love and to Hold
“Love is a burnin' thing and it makes a fiery ring. Bound by wild desire, I fell into a ring of fire”
“Is this music alright, Jim?”
“I know you don’t like to be touched, are you okay with me holding you?”
“Do you think there is a heaven?”
“Are you afraid of dying?”
“You know we all love you and will miss you dearly.”
“It’s okay. I have you, I am not going anywhere.”
“Goodbye.”
Apart from singing Charlie Landsborough and Johnny Cash, the preceding sentences are all things I said to Jim as I held him in his final hours. His answers to my questions were all he said on that last night before his life ended. Jim was a long time resident of the hostel accommodation and, even though you had to be quick to duck when he swung his fist, he was popular and well-liked. Jim was an alcoholic in his seventies and refused point blank to see a doctor, no matter how ill he was. “Fuck off!” was the only response to me or anyone else that tried to convince him to do anything he did not want. I would usually retort the same back to him, which would cause him to look up with the tiniest hint of a smirk. He seemed to respect me putting it up to him.
Something I learnt quickly about Jim was that he did not like being touched. He wasn’t a huge communicator so he never shared why this was - not with me anyway. There could be any number of reasons for it but it always appeared to be a defence. Maybe years of self-protection on the streets taught him to get the fists up quick. On many occasions, I forgot the ‘do not touch’ rule. I did sometimes chose to ignore it to catch him from falling. It was never received well. However, this was not the case during the last six hours in his life.
The desire to be wanted or to feel attractive can often be rejected as a weakness or of lesser intrinsic value than love. Based on my experience, I disagree.
I sat with Jim all night and felt honoured that in these last moments, he agreed to accept human contact. With every exhale, it felt as if his pain was leaving his soul. With every strained breath, he held my hand a little tighter. He even said no to playing U2 and smiled to Johnny Cash. He was not afraid to die and believed in God. Death can often be sad and scary but Jim had lived until his seventies, even after years of alcohol abuse and trauma. I think this is a testament to the incredible work of the staff and services that cater to the long-term homeless who would otherwise, in their absence, simply be street drinkers.
In those last moments it was just me, Jim and Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. It was beautiful. The pain left his face and for the first time in a long time he was held, held with love and care by another human.
To Be Wanted and To Feel Attractive
The desire to be wanted or to feel attractive can often be rejected as a weakness or of lesser intrinsic value than love. Based on my experience, I disagree. Managing working relationships was often a difficult tightrope to walk as a young woman working in homeless services. This was especially true when working with men of a similar age that, in any other situation, could have been in your circle of peers. They often passed remarks on how I looked, or jokingly suggested a date. It’s never really a joke though. Even though they know it’s never going to happen, the human being behind that bravado wants to feel that you might also be attracted to them. It is certainly true that boundaries are crucial in situations like that but you also need to remain aware that the person you are there to support and to advocate for is vulnerable. Ensuring that you don’t make them feel rejected while also being clear that a line exists that they cannot cross was difficult. Sometimes, in extremely challenging situations, I felt it was necessary to shift the boundary line. With Noel, it was necessary.
“Lynn! Do you like my new tracksuit and my new Liverpool Jersey?”
Noel would often go looking for a comment on his appearance. He was in his thirties. He was a non-smoker but he was a chronic alcoholic. His investments in new tracksuits gradually become more and more regular, in a desperate bid to divert from the mustard colour of his skin. We were watching him die in front of us. This young man, who acted like a teenager most days, seemingly just wanted a matriarchal figure to mind him.
Noel would refuse treatment time and time again – eventually choosing death by Budweiser over losing his bed in the homeless system. Noel died because the system failed to ensure he would not be discharged back into safe accommodation. He died because he never wanted to sleep on the street again and liver disease seemed like the lesser of two evils. Before his death, he became too ill to stay in the hostel and was transferred to St. James’ Hospital.
Being affectionate, loving and caring may never be written in ink in your job description but being human never needs to be contractual. Every action, every conscious thought and every moment together connects us.
As I slowly entered Noel’s hospital room, I prepared myself mentally for the image that awaited me. He was sleeping, he was frail and he was dying. He would not leave the hospital again and he would die a week later. I sat quietly at his bedside as he slept and rehearsed my facial expression for when he woke, so he would never know I was frightened by the fact that he didn’t look like himself anymore. If it weren’t for his name on the chart at the end of the bed, I wouldn’t have known it was him. Finally, he opened his eyes and welcomed me with a smile as big as I’d ever seen.
We chatted for a while about life and death and what could have been, but as I reluctantly got up to leave, he grabbed me by the wrist. I could tell he knew this would be our last conversation. He said he didn’t want to die so I turned around to face him again. He told me that he had always fancied me and if he wasn’t dying, homeless or an alcoholic that I would I fancy him too. He said that in another life that I would have gone out with him. He reminded me of a young boy, vulnerable and unsure of himself. So without any hesitation, I knew bending the truth didn’t matter anymore, I told him - “sure why do you think I’m here? I’ve always fancied you too.” I kissed him on the forehead and gave his hand a squeeze. He smiled, said thanks and I left.
Wanting to be wanted, wanting to feel attractive and wanting to know that you are desirable is something that I always pretend to not care about. But my final experience with Noel brought it back to basics for me. He taught me to embrace the vulnerability that is wanting someone to make you feel okay about who you are. He reminded me of the teenage innocence of fancying someone with no motivation or expectation behind it. Just one human saying ‘I like you’ and having that reciprocated. I will remember him and his polite loving manner forever.
Tender, Love and Care
Did you ever wonder what twenty years of dirt looks like on someone’s feet? Neither have I! When Alan finally let me peel the black stockings from his feet I began to appreciate my strong stomach. The elastic of the stockings was so embedded into his legs I really thought his feet might fall off with the stockings. His ankles had been so restricted that you would almost think they were the ankles of a ten year old placed on the body of a man.
The desire to be wanted or to feel attractive can often be rejected as a weakness or of lesser intrinsic value than love. Based on my experience, I disagree.
With the basin and the nail brush in hand I began to scrub away decades of footsteps and suffocation and years of homeless dead skin from this embarrassed man’s feet. You play instruments don’t you Alan? I used to play the tin whistle, I was very good Alan I swear - Ag Críost an Síol was my speciality. I used to have to play it for the big teacher’s masses. He kept laughing as if I was making it up. I don’t think he could imagine this tattooed mouthy young one playing such a delicate tune. I let him laugh at the idea as it was distracting him from the fact I was kneeling down with his feet in my hands which he was clearly uncomfortable with. So I just kept rambling on, cracking jokes. If I am being completely honest I needed the distraction too.
He had refused to allow anyone near his feet for months. All the counselling training in the world would tell you to respect his wishes to never take his shoes off but selfishly I decided I could not watch him painfully walk around the hostel a moment longer, although I was not completely prepared for the six inch toe nails that had grown with the shape of his toes. The twenty years of dirt looked like birthmarks or some sort of skin pigmentation. It’s as though the dirt seeped into his feet and became part of him. Two hours of washing and scrubbing couldn’t completely erase the memory of his time on streets.
Alan was a joker but there was sadness in his eyes that he was here in this spot. He would have walked forever in pain rather than allow someone to help. Sometimes when we offer help we can accept the refusal too quickly, reverting to this is not in my job description. It is important when we work with people in vulnerable positions to be mindful that it is just as abnormal for them to have someone wash their feet as it is for you to be washing someone’s feet.
Being affectionate, loving and caring may never be written in ink in your job description but being human never needs to be contractual. Every action, every conscious thought and every moment together connects us.
(Note: names have been changed to ensure privacy)
