I stood at my balcony door on a quiet Sunday morning. My hair in a towel, fresh out of the shower.
I watched a few snowflakes fall from high up above, thinking about gratitude and the joy and love in my life.
She appeared on the sidewalk, 3 floors below.
Cigarette and cell phone in hand. Underdressed for the cold winds and crisp air.
Walking haggardly, jaggedly up Bay Street I watched her body move.
I walked that same walk many years ago I knew without hesitation – she’s back on the streets, back on the drugs.
It was 2 years ago that I spent so many days listening and supporting her at the end of her pregnancy.
All she wanted was her children back and to keep the one growing within.
I spent Christmas day watching her in anguish at the thought of her children opening presents under someone else’s tree.
Over 4 months of clean time she left us for the hospital to birth the baby within.
2 years later as I watch her stagger up the street I cannot help ask,
“Did any of the time she spent under our roof make a difference?”
I watched her until she was out of my view I returned to my thoughts of gratitude.
I thought of my family, friends and counsellors. If it were not for them I may have been the one being watched on the sidewalk instead of 3 floors up.
I sent my love to each one of them for the difference they made in my life and hope that one day she may be able to do the same.