To our brother in his time of need

Content warning: This story references suicidal thoughts. Please take care when reading.

I often share stories of triumph, breakthroughs and small moments of joy from within the work of the recovery community. This reflection is a little bit of that, but mostly it’s a reflection of gratitude to the God of my understanding.

This week, one of the gentlemen we’ve had with us at Doc’s House for several months was in crisis. Things had been going well in his recovery, he was back at work, and he had been overcoming challenge after challenge that came his way. But over the course of several days, he started struggling again, with both addiction and his mental health.

When he started making comments about ending things, our team moved into action and started working to get him into a place that could help him with these thoughts. But he wasn’t ready to get help, so in the end, all we could do was make the calls we needed to make, and hope and pray he would be safe.

A couple of days later, someone on our team learned information about his whereabouts — most importantly that he was alive and he was safe. As he shared this news with us, he added simply:

“Higher power, please help our brother in his time of need.”

Through the events of the week, I was reminded of the quote by Rabbi Tarfon, “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

The dance between empowering others to make their own choices, mistakes and triumphs is a fragile one.

This week, we worked hard to find that balance — to show love, to offer hope, to be moved by deep compassion towards a person who needed it in this moment — but to also accept the reality that some things are entirely out of our control.

In the end, all we could do was wait and pray, holding onto steadfast hope that the right people, systems and supports came into our friend’s life when we couldn’t, keeping him safe for another day,

To see things clearly again,
to feel hope again;
to find himself again.

On Tuesday morning, our team was in our weekly meeting and began processing the events of the past week, sharing how our friend was doing and what we knew about where he was now.

As we were talking, someone spoke up, and with a voice that began to break and tears in his eyes, he started sharing about how difficult it was to see our friend not get the help he needed and continue to struggle so greatly. He added that he kept thinking maybe there was something different he could have said or done to change the outcome.

But then the conversation continued, and he added that after our friend left, he began driving by the hospital to look for the man’s bike. He shared he had made a promise to him that if he decided to get help, he would make sure his bike, the man’s most valued possession, was safe and secure.

So keeping to his word, that’s what he did.

He drove by the hospital all day, watching and waiting for that bike to show up. Hoping and praying to see it outside as a symbol that our friend had gone to get the help he needed.

On Tuesday as he was sharing this with us, he had tears in his eyes. Because eventually, and thankfully, the bike did appear outside the hospital that night, giving the reassurance that our friend was safe.

This is the impossible balance — not being overwhelmed by the enormity of grief; knowing we don’t have the power to save others; yet still showing up for people in their darkest moment.

When I think about my hardest moments and darkest days in life, I think that’s what I’d want, too. I would want someone to step in to help me remember when I couldn’t anymore.

Someone to remember my smile,
My gifts,
My dreams.

That I wasn’t just another recipient of the system, but a human being.

And I think if my bike was my most prized possession, I’d want someone else to acknowledge it, and for that reason alone, to care about it, too.

As the week came to a close, our building started filling up with people ready to share in the Friday night tradition of a simple gratitude meeting. This week, we were met with the glow of Christmas lights and the stillness and quietness of candlelight.

As people began walking into the room, I looked up and saw the man who had left earlier that week.

He was back, he was safe.

In that room, he was met with handshakes, ‘welcome backs’, and hugs from others who were simply glad and relieved to see him.

The brotherly love, compassion and peace in the room were palpable. The meeting was poignant and poetic. And I couldn’t help but feel even more gratitude than usual, feeling that our specific prayers were answered this week. Maybe because we asked for help, too.

To the God of my understanding, thank you for doing for each of us what we cannot do for ourselves — and cannot do for others.

And when we can’t, thank you for hearing our prayer, for stepping in, and for helping our brother in his time of need so he could find his way back.