With the coming of winter, our work with the people living on the streets always takes on a different character.  Not only do the dark and the cold take their toll on those experiencing homelessness, but we begin to tally up all those who have died on the streets.  This year was especially difficult for the Pittsburgh community.  It wasn’t just the fact that we lost more people than in previous years, but also that it seemed the people we lost just broke our hearts.  Many of you remember Roberto, who gave the keynote address in Allentown.  His presentation spoke to the struggles he overcame and the profound love he had for those still on the streets.  We gave him a well-deserved standing ovation.  Sadly, he succumbed to alcohol and lost his battle this past year.  We lost a gifted artist who always advocated for the younger people on the streets.  We lost a dear man who had paranoid thoughts but was a loyal friend to those in his camp.  And we lost too many others.

Being medical people, we ask ourselves about the causes of death and the first culprit in most of our cities has become fentanyl.  Never have I seen one drug kill so many people.  But there is also violence, untreated medical conditions and suicide.  What we know, however, is that these are all diseases of despair and exclusion.  The streets are a death zone and the longer you are there, the more likely you are to die.  The rough sleeping people are the ones who suffer the most, but all those who practice street medicine and outreach are also deeply affected.  And so, every December 21^st in the United States, we recognize our National Homeless Memorial Day.  It is a time to declare that real, precious human beings are dying on our streets.  It is a time to grieve, to remember, sometimes to laugh and to dedicate ourselves to preventing more tragedies in the future.

In Pittsburgh, we hold our memorial service at the homeless memorial wall.  Back in 1996, I had reached a point where I could not walk the alleys and riverbanks without sensing the presence of those who had died in almost every part of our city.  And as my sadness grew, it was obvious that very few people were aware of the horrendous reality of all those deaths.  As far as I could see, Pittsburgh didn’t care if “those people” died.  But every person was someone I had loved.  It made me angry.  As Harsh Mander would say, I felt outrage.

Following some media coverage, I received a letter and a check from the author, Sidney Sheldon.  Immediately, I knew what I should do.  My street partner Mike and I bought plaques for the people we had recently lost.  At the top of each plaque, it said “We Remember”, the name of the person, and the year they died.  Our plan was to drill them into the place where each person had died as a testament – and as a cry of outrage to the greater community.  If it was next to city hall, so be it.   If it was under an obscure bridge, so be it.  (As it turned out, it is illegal to just put up plaques like that).  So I went to the mayor’s office and he gave us permission to put them on a wall under a bridge at the end of Grant Street – the same street where city hall is located.  It has become sacred ground for all of us on the streets.  Above the now long rows of names is a larger plaque on which a nurse, Susan O’Toole, and I inscribed these words,

In Memory of those who lived and died on our streets

We believe you are no longer cold, hungry, lonely or frightened

May you watch over us from a warm, caring home above

It was to this wall we returned on December 21, 2019 with heavy hearts for the many losses of dear friends in the past year.  I was secretly grateful that others had taken the initiative to organize the event and they did so beautifully.  Before long, well over a hundred people picked up their candles and formed a semi-circle facing the wall.  Behind them, a line of police officers respectfully joined us.  A few came up to me and expressed their feelings of loss for the new names on the wall.  I stepped off to the side and decided to just take in the feelings.  I was tired and I was sad and I could feel the pain amongst the homeless people, the families and the outreach workers in the crowd.  I didn’t feel like I had anything left to give.  I wanted to cry not just for those who had died in Pittsburgh, but for all those dying on the streets throughout the world.  Those moments are the ones I dread.  When all the pain of all the years is suddenly just-right-there.

But in the crowd, I could see more than just faces of grief.  I saw old volunteers like our nurse, Jan Boyd.  I saw many of those still on the streets and many who had found housing.  I saw selfless volunteers and staff from other agencies, and I saw people who just cared.   There was a spirit of humble solidarity that was stronger than the darkness of that night.  When a group of young girls from an elementary choir began to sing, it was like some angels had joined us.  Dr Wahrenberger from Pittsburgh Mercy gave a moving speech honoring Roberto and the others and then some of those experiencing homelessness spoke about the friends they had lost.  Nothing could have been more respectful and powerful.  And healing.

From my position at the edge of the crowd, I could see all those faces illuminated by their candles.  A sob left my chest and was replaced by a feeling of hope I at first did not understand.  But it was there as plain as could be.  These people loved the people we had lost.  And they loved each other.  And most importantly, they loved the people who were still struggling to find their way out of the darkness.  It was at that moment I got a glimpse of the power of love.  It cannot be conquered.  It believes all things are possible.  It hopes all things.  It endures all things.  Love will never end.   

What we and those with whom we are privileged to work are building is a fabric of love.  We have to work together to see that it is strong and inclusive.  Even with all the loss and discouragement, that love will prevail and overcome the fear and the darkness.  I am grateful to know this deeper truth.  Keep loving each other.