Empathy and chance encounters

I have a lot of empathy for people facing adversity. Since my son Justin died, these feelings have grown.

It bothers me when people judge, laugh about, or dismiss people with addictions.

I know there are people who blame addicts for their predicaments because at some point they willingly started using the pills and drugs they are addicted to. It's easy to say it's their fault.

But many of them were very young and unaware of the consequences and lifelong battles that would follow. It's called addiction for a reason.

There's a singer I listen to named Joe Nester. He writes songs about his experiences with addiction, depression and recovery.

One song called ‘Story of an Addict' describes how those with addictions feel hopeless, broken, battered, ashamed and defeated. About how the hole they've dug for themselves is too deep.

The lyrics I especially resonate with, based on our family's experience, are these: “I don't hide my past or all the crazy things I did. I share it openly and try to raise awareness on the dangers of addiction when you are young and you are careless. Cause it could be your family, be your friends, or be the rest of them. It could be a stranger passing by you see as just a bum … I'm here to let you know sometimes it happens to the best of them.”

I'm not naïve. I know the destruction addiction causes in communities. The hurt. Crime driven by drugs. I don't dismiss that. It's terrible.

Still, not everyone with addiction is a bad person.

Just like not everyone without addiction is a good person.

I've made some recent trips to Halifax. I find it hard to divert my eyes from people I see facing adversity – whether through addiction, homelessness, or both – cup in hand, pacing intersections, hoping for money from vehicles stopped at red lights. If I can, I give them money. Sometimes $5. If I only have a $20 bill, that's what I give.

I do it because I feel bad for them. I do it because I know Justin would want to help them. I do it because I'm thankful I don't have a loved one in their same worn shoes.

When I gave a young man $20, he clasped his hands in prayer and thanked me profusely, wishing me well as I wished him luck in his struggles. “Now I can get something to eat,” he said. I watched him run across the street and go into a Tim Hortons.

Last month my husband and I were in Halifax. We were talking about a fellow we know from Yarmouth who is on the streets of Halifax. He's homeless and struggles with addiction. We hadn't talked about him in years. We wondered what had become of him. Was he still alive?

Halifax is a big place. What happened two hours later completely shocked us.

We were at an intersection. There was a guy, cup in hand. We didn't have time to do anything before the light turned green. As the man walked past my husband said, “Oh my God, that was Danny.”

As in the person we had been talking about two hours earlier.

We pulled over on the nearest side street and called out to him. We talked for a while. He told us about strides he's made. The shelter he is living in. Addiction challenges he's overcome but others he's still battling. Life goals he still has.

I recall reading a news article about homelessness years back, in which he was interviewed and told the reporter that panhandling is an exercise in humility. “Sometimes you feel like a ghost out there. You'll ask people for change and they won't even look at you. You ask people for the time and they don't even acknowledge you.”

We gave Danny some money to help him out and wished him luck. We parted ways with smiles on all of our faces from this chance encounter.

As we drove away my husband said, “I can't help but wonder if Justin helped to make that happen.”

I'm certain he did.

Justin had a lot of empathy for people. He's where I learned much of mine from.