The Unconditional Love of a Stranger

I never believed in Unconditional Love until I became a mother. Unfortunately, I did not become a mother under ideal circumstances. I discovered hard drugs at a young age, and by the time I was 20, I had a full-blown heroin addiction. I never asked to become what I did, but that is not this story. This story is a story about my light at the end of the tunnel, not my origins as an addict.

I wish that I could say that becoming a mother to either of my beautiful and perfect children was enough to keep me clean- but it wasn't. H was born in 2013 and A was born in 2016. My babies were perfect and beautiful, and I did have periods of remission where I managed to keep my life somewhat straight. I had nearly a year of complete abstinence in 2017-2018, and then I sadly relapsed and my one year of active amphetamine addiction took me to places that 10 years of heroin addiction couldn't even aspire to reach.

By the time December of 2018 rolled around, I found myself at a rock bottom the likes of which I had never reached before: homeless in the streets of Tacoma, living in a tent. I was freezing, often hungry, and vastly alone. I am grateful to say I did have several people in the camps with me that helped me survive, people whom I feel literally saved my life. But at that point in time, I did not want to be alive. The hole in my heart from missing my children was so great that I feared the darkness would swallow me whole, and never let me escape. I had experienced recovery once before, but I believed (as did many others) that I would not survive this relapse or taste the beauty of life ever again.

As I said before, my children taught me that Unconditional Love does exist. But I was not convinced that it existed outside of the parent/child dynamic. Certainly, I did not believe that a perfect stranger could love someone unconditionally. Absolutely, they could never love someone like me. One cold December night, I was shown otherwise.

I found myself stuck in Olympia that particular week, fleeing a situation that left my skin crawling and my stomach hurting. I ventured to the nearby Alano club to hit a meeting, trying to cling desperately to the few days of sobriety I had managed to string together despite my perilous circumstances of being in an unfamiliar city with no shelter. There was a flyer advertising the new Avenger's movie showing at a church, and it boasted they were providing transportation to and from the event. I decided to go.

The church was huge, homey, and welcoming. It had been many years since I'd set foot inside one, and for a brief moment I was afraid I might combust. Thankfully I didn't, and although I very clearly looked like a transient, I was greeted with such warmth and respect that I almost began to cry right away. After sitting down with candy and popcorn, several of the church members popped over to my table at various times during the movie to attend to me. They made sure I did not have want nor need of anything. Even the children came over to make small talk and brought me both a deep sadness and a profound sense of humanity.

When you are transient, people look at you differently. It doesn't matter what type of person you are, only what you appear to be. I have the biggest heart in the world and still, people looked at me as though I might snatch their purse. You are often stripped of your humanity and dignity as a homeless person. Parents instinctively pull their children closer to them when they walk past. I remember wanting to scream at them, "I'm a mother too! I used to be just like you!" But until they have walked a mile in our shoes, I recognize it is difficult for them to understand.

As I rose to leave, one of the members of the church pulled me aside and asked me what made me choose to come tonight? "You are the only non-member of the church that showed up, and we put flyers everywhere," she explained, almost sadly. "It was supposed to be a community event, we really wanted to bring people together."

For some reason, I felt the compelling urge to tell her the truth. Not just part of the truth, but my whole story (the cliff-notes version of course). I explained to her that I was recently stranded in Olympia, hailing from Tacoma, and Southern Oregon originally. I told her that I had been sleeping at the hospital at night, and hanging around the Alano club during the day, trying to piece myself together. "I only have a few days sober and I don't really know what I'm doing. I've never been homeless in this capacity before." My boyfriend was doing prison time, and I missed him and our life before our relapse so much. "Avengers was kind of our thing together, so I decided to come watch." The woman listened to my story intently and nodded. At no point in time while telling my story did I feel she was judging me.

"Wait right here for just a minute will you, please?" She asked me.

"Uhm, Ok?" I wasn't sure what she was going to do, but I agreed.

She came back just a few moments later, dragging her husband with her almost frantically. She introduced us, then looked me directly in my eyes and said, "I know this is going to sound weird, and I genuinely hope that you understand that I am not meaning this in any sort of weird or scary way: I feel compelled by the spirit to bring you home. Just for the night until we can help you figure out what your next move is. I promise you, you will be safe, you can wash your clothes and take a shower and we will feed you. Would that be okay with you?"

I am a firm believer in trusting your intuition and judgment. There have been so many times that I listened to my gut, no matter how crazy I felt at the time, only to find out later that I was correct even when I didn't have a shred of proof. Every fiber in my being told me that I was supposed to go home with this lovely couple and that I would be 100% protected and safe. I agreed.

It was just as they promised. They took me home with them and fed me, let me take the first real hot shower I had taken in who knows how long, and treated me like a person. We joked, talked about our families (we shared Norwegian ancestry), and had a lovely evening. I called my dad and talked to him, and I remember him telling me that he couldn't remember the last time I sounded this hopeful or lucid. I went to bed (although I did put a stick in the window, locked the door, and piled boxes in front of it out of force of habit) and slept blissfully. I was warm and I was safe.

The next day, they took me to a craft bazaar and to the mall to spend a couple of the gift cards that the church had gotten for the people who attended their movie night. I bought some clothing, browsed Christmas goods, and was given not one, but two signs that promised me it was going to be alright. The first was a sign that matched exactly what was written on my Facebook profile: "Unstoppable, Unshakable, Unbreakable." The second sign was far more profound and it has been my driving force every day ever since. "A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history." -Mahatma Gandhi. The quote is significant in so many ways that it would take another story altogether to explain why. Suffice to say, that was the day I realized that I was going to be ok. Everything was going to be okay.

This lovely couple sat down with me and decided to buy me a bus ticket to my hometown: a $250 bus ticket to get me closer to my son, to my dad, to my family. They drove me to Tacoma, to several places to retrieve my belongings, allowed me to stay another night, and dropped me off in the morning at the bus station with hugs, blessings, and my faith in humanity skyrocketing.

Less than a month later, in early January of 2019, I was reunited with my then 5-year-old son. He was upstairs getting dressed and ready for bed, with no idea that I had come home after 6 months of being away from him (the first- and last- time in his entire life). He came down the stairs, walking into the kitchen on his tip-toes, and when he saw me, his whole face burst with light, and I burst into tears. As his little arms wrapped around my tiny body, and I scooped him into my arms, I knew that this Christmas Miracle would never have been possible if it were not for the Unconditional Love of a Christian couple from Maple Valley.

I would not be clean today, with a beautiful life, able to visit my daughter regularly and with full custody of my son, if not for them. I honestly believe I most likely would not even be alive if it were not for them. I had been so stripped of everything that I believed made me who I was, as well as my dignity and humanity, that my hope was long gone. They breathed a breath of life and fresh air into me and gave me the strength that I needed to make the long journey home. For that, I will be forever grateful. I will forever remember that love and try to pass it forward, that one day I may be the last breath of hope that allows someone to float home and find the courage to rise from the ashes of their tattered life.