Peace in Death

"Steven..." I waited, listening in the long pause, the exasperated breathing coming from the other end of the line, "he's gone."

                It took a few moments, pulling memories of voice, story, stored information. As it became clear, I realized my previous supervisor was on the line. Immediately coming to terms with why she was calling, my heart raced, my eyes watered. "He said your name, he said your name in the ambulance and I, I had to let you know." She went on for a few moments as my world went gray, as noises weaved together into nothing, falling to my knees, hot tears pouring down my face. My first client, the first client I saw come off the streets, clean up from drugs, begin a life, he's gone.  

                Walking into the apartment, I moved a man who lived great pain into a new life. Once street homeless for not less than ten years, this individual had finally been deemed worthy of housing after a decade of hospitalizations, hazardous shelter environments, cold winter nights. I breezed over his chart, diagnosis, family history, ignoring the majority of information for the first meeting. Me, a student intern in his second year; him, my first assigned client. I began my prepared spiel of regulations, services offered, until I noticed the tears. Stopping, I dropped my paperwork on the bed, "welcome home, it's yours." Gripping me in a hug, I felt his tears hitting my neck, "home, home, this is my home."

                We grew together over the weeks and months that followed, knowing that homelessness, in itself, isn't solvable by just housing. We shared candid moments:

C: "you're the fucking intern, they gave me the fucking intern, what good are you?"

Me: "Yeah, they gave you me, I'm just the fucking intern, but you're stuck with me. I'm not good at everything, but I'm good at somethings, so let's figure it out together."

Or my favorite:

C: "You're a fucking cunt."

Me: "I'm the biggest fucking cunt you've ever met."

C: "Fine, I'll take my medication."

                We shared trips to the hospital as his cancer was diagnosed, as the ambulance rides became a frequent event. Nothing prepares you for when a grown adult man looks you in the face, tears in eyes, and tells you he's terrified of dying alone. I remember the moment he grabbed my hand and stated he didn't feel alone anymore. I remember the day he told me that for the first time he felt cared for. I remember the day he said he was done drinking.

                I worked with this man for a short few months, we shared stories, pain, tears, and life together. He lived a life that no one should have to live. His daily struggle would be unbearable if I had to live it. Today I remember him for who he was, what he taught me about life, how to stand up for myself, how to listen better, how to be nonjudgmental, and how to be myself.

I'll never forget him.   

A Journey in Healing

          Placing the card into my hands, he smiled,

then spoke, "I know your story Mr. Pokorski, I'm grateful your with us." Tears forming from my eyes as I read the card to myself. A statement of healing, mastery, and becoming. I grasped those words that January evening, holding them close as I began a new chapter.

          Nearly two years ago I embarked on a life change. Moving to a city unknown, leaving supports, friends, and family in hopes of finding meaning. Wounded from tragic events that plagued my soul continually, I searched for a way to give back the support I had been given. I arrived at NYU Silver with an open mind and heart for change and healing.

          Depths of despair, heights of resilience, I've learned a deeper sense of what it is to be human. The pain of my past, now my power. My heart cry continually being that injustice will not prevail in the life of the individuals' put before me. My story, my pain, has found meaning.

          Every tear, heartbreak, failure, disappointment, injustice, today they all make sense. I wouldn't be the man I've become if it weren't for the lives that have touched me, the people that have loved me, and the pains that have formed me.

Continually healing, but increasingly whole.

The Sun is Rising 

Resilience

                “Something has died in this man.” He said, placing his hand gently on my shoulder as I readied to leave. Turning to him, he stated, “but something is abundantly alive.” This man enlightened me to own my  power struggles, privileges, issues of self-worth, some time ago. Different in our cultures, skin color, development; he knows me well, noticing the subtleties within my person, calling me out when a change is noted.

                Knowing who you are, while also standing up for who you are – that’s gray. When must I change and not my environment? When must my environment change instead of me? Smacked in the face of clarity recently, I’ve come to realize how well I know myself. I can list how I feel, I can articulate what I need. I know where I’m going, with a healthy love of self.

Boundaries, that's what I've been lacking, declaring my right to be enough. Recently, I watched with a front row seat as I let myself be taken advantage of emotionally. Framed as simple, unintelligent, over-emotional, small, I clung to the ideals of another human and retreated from myself. I felt my passion fade, pain set in, resulting in emptiness. 

A colleague forcefully removing a phone from my hands states at the top of her lungs, “Steven, you cannot hold on to anyone who isn’t holding on to you. You’re falling, we all see it. We can’t save you, though we want to, only you can save you.”  Finding footing from her words, I regained my voice.

That day, in that space, I saw my compromises which led to my downfall. Today, I stand stronger in my ability to say I am proud of the man I've become. I’ve grown resilient, a more concrete attitude that I can have pride in myself, I can stand up for who I am.

“Relationships don’t end, they complete. This relationship taught you more about yourself than you already realize. For a while, you’ve known who you are and you’ve come to love that person. But now, now you’ve learned how to stand for that person. You’re weaknesses are dying Mr. Pokorski, but your heart’s growing in robust form.” 

The Sun is Rising