I watched her cross the street on her bike, and time slowed at that stop light. The way it does in the movies, but I’m sure she didn’t cross the six lanes of traffic on Woodward Avenue in slow motion. I fought the urge to roll down my window and call after her. “Are you Pam??”
I pictured the last time I saw her. She sat by the door at church on the last day of the warming center, watching us pack up the curtain dividers and sleeping mats, stowing the first aid supplies, hygienic supplies, and clothing. Preparing to transfer our unhoused guests to their next church location.
It was a year of firsts for me—attending this church, volunteering at the warming center, volunteering at Humble Design1.
Our church teams up with a few churches every winter to house those experiencing homelessness, each taking a two-week turn. I started volunteering with Humble a few months before, so I jumped in with both feet. I worked a first shift overnight, staying with the guests until 2 am. I volunteered on the weekends, bringing along my knitting, and listened to their stories. I shared leftover Star Wars treats from my boys' birthday party. I sat next to Pam as they packed up.
“I slept out on the front steps before, looking in,” she told me, “ I always wondered what it would be like to be inside looking out.”
Anything that came to my mind to say in response felt insufficient and awkward.
“You are welcome ‘in,’ anytime,” I said, and then I asked the question swimming in my head. “When you are ‘out’ what is one thing you would want?” I thought about something I could carry with me in my car.
“A warm bed,” she answers without hesitation.
The light changes, and I shake the memory in my head. My car carried the items for a warm bed along with the other items I’d chosen to furnish an apartment for a young man, a victim of gun violence. He worked maintenance at the other apartments in his building while coming home to an empty one, sleeping on the hardwood floor with only blankets. Hours later, he would practically trip into his apartment, trying not to step on his new white and gray shag rug.
“This is exactly what I wanted,” he would exclaim when he saw his bed covered in dark gray and blue, just like he requested.
That night, instead of thinking about the difficult day of decorating the apartment,* I could only think about the woman on the bike. I hoped wherever she was going, that place was hers. I hoped she had a sofa and TV, a table to eat at, and a comfy chair. Most of all, I hoped she had a warm bed.
During my first year volunteering at Humble Design and the Warming Center, I felt both hopeless and hopeful. On the hopeless side, I remember someone coming to the door at church because he was sleeping in his car. He had work in the morning. On the hopeful side, I helped the designers furnish apartments for those on the other side of this situation. While voicing these feelings, the operations manager asked for the name of the shelter we worked with. On telling her, I discovered that we do, in fact, work with them, and in my first year as a designer, I got to furnish an apartment for a man who had slept at our church a few weeks before.
I am jumping in again this year. We started to set up for our guests being transported next weekend. With a high today of 11°, I hope for more of these full-circle moments.
You can read my previous Designer Diary entry here.
Humble Design is a nonprofit that furnishes and decorates homes for those emerging from homelessness. In the Detroit area, we furnish three homes a week.
*Although the apartment building had an elevator, it was not very big. It got quite the workout that day. My director, who helped me transport items to the deco, stayed to help manage getting the stuff off the elevator. He also very kindly went back to the warehouse to get the TV that didn’t get packed because I forgot to put it on my list for the movers and brought back my car seats to save me a trip.
What a cool organization!! Love this story, Jill!