Month: December 2023

December 25: Two men appeared at my door: James somewhat larger and stronger, David smaller and introverted. James took charge, finding a place to sit, got some food and made sure his friend was looked after. They are regulars at the Wednesday evening Out of the Cold program where I am the greeter on the front door.  I learned later from James that they have been friends for many years. David had recently been diagnosed with a form of cancer and, on that night, he was suffering from the after-effects of a chemotherapy treatment that afternoon. James told me that although David would be staying indoors with us that night, he usually slept on the outdoor GO station platform at York Mills. James would ride the TTC bus for the night, often stopping in at the station during the night to check on David.

Along with several friends, I have had reason to be involved with the investigation and treatment of cancer. I’ve routinely heard of the issues around treatment, care, and follow-up appointments. How would accessing the system and getting appropriate treatment be remotely possible if you were living without a permanent address, without healthy food and supportive care, without a consistent way to access the system itself ? Given these impossible impediments to his treatment, it didn’t surprise me to hear James say that David “just wants it all to end…”

And for many this year it will end.  Several years ago, I passed a young man asleep on the sidewalk a few days before Christmas. It’s impossible to know how this guy found himself passed out on the sidewalk at 8AM, but I couldn’t help wondering where his family was, and how they would react if they knew of his circumstances. It broke my heart to think that he would spend Christmas without them, alone and trying just to survive.

We know the circumstances of many people like him in this city. The shelters are full, there’s no money for more beds. Without basic shelter, more than 90 people have died on the streets this year alone. Food banks are stretched to the limit. Mental health issues are on the rise and people lacking adequate treatment are left wandering the streets. Rates of addiction and violence are rising.

Ultimately, the system – our society – works adequately for “the average person”. If you have an address, an identity, and a modest income, you have access to the things you need to survive, if only at a modest level. That system is operated by people like me, for people like me. We come from privilege and comfortable surroundings. We have family and friends; we have more than enough money; and, we can make choices about how we choose to live our lives.

But it seems that far too many of us have become complacent with a system that forces more and more of our fellow citizens into untenable conditions. If a society will be judged by how it treats its’ least fortunate members, I fear that we are demonstrably failing.  In a land where so few have so much, and so many have so little, this is no longer acceptable or understandable.  Yet I see little indication from our politicians, our bureaucrats, or our trained professionals, that any of this will change any time soon. When you are in a comfortable and privileged place, there is no impetus to change.

I didn’t see David or James this week, so I have no idea how they are making out as we pass the holidays. I hope they will return next week, but in the meantime I will be thinking of them, and the many others, who will not be enjoying the same holiday as me.

December 18: Friends will know that Christmas is not my favourite time of year. I use that term deliberately since Christmas is no longer a day – if it ever was – but rather an orgy of spending and “celebrating” that extends from Halloween to mid-January. With the actual date now a week away, I believe that I have passed the low-point of my annual funk, and progressed to acceptance that it will soon pass.

It has been difficult to be optimistic this year for many reasons: Thousands continue to be killed in on-going wars in Ukraine and Gaza. The mindless brutality of those conflicts, and the human toll they take, is breathtaking and I am left to wonder how, or if, they will ever be resolved. To our south, the  Presidential election is underway with Trump apparently a front-runner for re-election. Americans, and to a certain extent Canadians, are increasingly divided between the extreme “left” and “right” ends of the political spectrum and those views are so strongly held that I wonder how the country will ever re-unite. That both Biden and Trump are front-runners points to the fact that the political establishment continues to be run by and for the old white guy network of the wealthy and privileged.

Closer to home, it feels to me like Canada is diminishing as a country with meaning and importance for the global community. We have lost the ability to defend ourselves, or even to be taken seriously as an ally. We are no longer even asked to participate.  As the world order copes with the ascendancy of China and India, our diplomatic position is still a work in progress. The political climate at the federal level seems to be ready to swing hard right, and I worry what that means as “common sense politics” comes to the fore. (Been there, done that, thanks.)

Meanwhile, our moronic Premier continues to promote boondoggle projects that favour and enrich his political friends while the rest of us deal with a collapsing health care system and growing rates of homelessness and addictions. His latest gambit is the famous “buck a beer” promise made during the last election which will come to fruition – surprise, surprise – just before the next Provincial election.

In the midst of all this, I received an email from the daughter of a fellow resident at Garden Court advising that her Mother Joan was in palliative care with fractured vertebrae “that are not expected to heal”.  Joan began the process of securing medical assistance in dying (MAID) and died December 4.

Joan was in her early nineties. She was from Wales and embodied the “stiff upper lip” determination that often characterizes that generation. She was intelligent, thoughtful, outspoken and wickedly funny. I would look forward to meeting her in the garden where we would spend a while chatting about current events or life in general. She was a unique and charming character.

In the days before her death, I sent her an e-mail and she responded that: “… living alone at Garden Court as I grew old and the years of Covid compounded my physical disability . Don’t want to spend the rest of time languishing in a hospital bed and relying on nurses to look after me hand and foot! I’m going on a different journey. Michael and Margaret are supporting me all the way, even though it’s tough on them. I hope you find a sense of freedom. Still lots of time to revel in life. Such wonder everywhere, even now. ”

And so as my seasonal funk begins to lift, I am left to consider the advice of a woman facing the end of her life.  Even in those most dire of circumstances she was able to see the possibilities for a happier and more enjoyable future for those around her. That alone spoke volumes about her character, and reminded me that, no matter how funky things get at this time (or any other time) of the year, I should not lose sight of the hope for a brighter future ahead.