Letters to Sveta serve as reminder of woman’s death in donation bin
“Dear Sveta,
“My Dearest Darling … I can’t believe you’re gone. I’ve never even imagined a life without you; not even for a minute.”
So begins the first entry in a ruled notebook placed under a clear plastic, domed cake lid and left on the ground at a memorial outside the West Point Grey Community Centre. It is dated July 24, 2018, the day after a 39-year-old woman died at the site after she climbed halfway into a clothing donation bin.
The entry is one of several left under the signature of a man named Michael.
Michael has been living in a small blue tent tucked mostly out of sight behind a stone wall on the grounds of the community centre.
On Wednesday morning the tent was nestled into the bushy leaves of a large tree with its door left open in the warm breeze.
An electric scooter leaned on its kickstand outside the front door of the tent while Michael rested inside. Children ran around on the grounds, laughing and playing games while adults sweated in a dance exercise class at the nearby gym.
Michael emerged from his tent around 11:45 a.m. He straddled the scooter, slumped over its handle bars and slowly walked it out onto the grass. He was slow to respond when spoken to.
Asked whether he was OK, Michael said: “Not really. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
A passing driver slowed down as Michael pushed his bike across Northwest Marine Drive. He continued across the lawn outside the Jericho Arts Centre and parked outside the front doors of the busy Hostelling International building at Jericho Beach.
“Dear Sveta,” began another entry in the notepad, left July 25, 2018.
“I am hanging on by a very thin line, but, my grip is as tight as I possibly can hold … only because I know you wouldn’t want me to roll over that easy.”
Michael lay on his side under a tree on the hostel lawn around 12:30 p.m. His eyelids drooped and he slipped in and out of wakefulness. He wore shorts and a superhero shirt and there were scabs and an open sore on his legs.
Michael said he was really sick. He declined emergency services but asked for a taxi to be called. He wanted to go to an address in the Downtown Eastside. When the cab arrived he stepped inside, closed the door, leaned back and closed his eyes.
Left outside the hostel was Michael’s black Motorino scooter. It was adorned with stickers of Star Wars characters and of an Air Jordan silhouette. Its engine cover had been removed and a torn bag of clothes sat a few feet away.
Michael’s tent at the community centre remained open and some of his belongings were beyond reach of the rain fly.
Flowers surrounded the notepad at Sveta’s memorial. Several of the entries had been left by residents. “So terribly sorry for your loss,” someone wrote to Michael. “I am sending you healing energy,” someone else wrote to Sveta.
“Hey Babe,” began Michael’s third letter in the notepad.
“I’ve just been hanging around … not doing too much of anything. Mostly feeling sorry for you and myself … I’m having increasing feelings of guilt: I should’ve been with you; I should’ve arrived earlier.”
The entry was dated July 28, 2018.
“You’re in a place as beautiful as you are and completely at peace. And I don’t doubt it. Not even for a nanosecond.”
It was the last entry in the notepad.