Big Day on the Emotional Rollar Coaster

Today was a big day on the emotional rollar coaster.

It started this morning when my family went down to Stockton Blvd with food to distribute to the hungry and homeless in the community. We have taken to doing this about twice a month. It's the least we can do.

And it's actually pretty simple. Just put a home made sandwich in a paper sack with an apple and a bottle of water. You'll be surprised at how appreciative a hungry person is to enjoy the gift. Lately we have been putting a toothbrush and toothpaste in each bag too. Hygiene seems to fall by the wayside pretty quickly when a person doesn't have a roof over her head.

Jay, a 30-ish white male, is the first person we have seen twice on our rounds. He remembered us too, which was pretty cool. He actually looked better today than the last time we saw him. Still, whatever has driven him to the street, has taken its toll on him. What a loss of human potential. I hope we get to see him again, and find out more about his situation.

Then there was the young woman, African American, probably in her 30s, sitting against the wall of a car parts store, disheveled, unnamed. When I approached her with the bag, she hesitated. Life on the street is doubly treacherous for women. Her trembling hands and wary eyes haunt me even now.

And there were many others. Some, like Scotty, another 30 something visibly recovering from a night of drinking. He asked if we had spit in the food we were giving him. When I said "no, it was made with love," he thumped his chest and said he knew how to love too. I can only imagine the wound that got him to this moment. When he was a squalling child, someone loved him. Now, he's just a big scruffy bluffer with his bed laying on the sidewalk.

And it went on and on like this all morning. Several women, mostly men. Several young, many over 60. The life blood of a great country poured out on the mean streets of Sacramento.

And then there were the prostitutes. One of them, etched firmly in my mind, sat on a cement wall. Her dark pendulous breasts, nipples and all, fully bared above the remnant of her blouse. A big, beautiful woman marketing her wares in broad daylight. I may never forget that sight as it seems to have shattered some reservoir of naivete I had garnered in my middle class world. The cop car down the road paid no mind to her version of capitalism.

Once we ran out of food, we headed for home. I took a short nap and then headed to the Wonderful Chinese Restaurant for a family reunion of sorts. My mom, two uncles and their mates, a cousin's wife and daughter joined my daughter and I to celebrate my grandmother's 94th birthday. Plates of food in juices and greases circled before us on the rotating table. The juxtaposition between want and plenty in my day was not lost on me. The gift of life my grandmother gave to all of us can't be captured in the little presents wrapped in glossy bags topped with floppy ribbons, nor quantified by the 15 entrees from which we tasted. She once founded a local chapter of Habitat for Humanity. Today she received a small box of chocolates. Is this really the way it goes?

There was a melancholy to the meal that I couldn't put my finger on. It was only after the left overs were wrapped up and the tip was laid out that I learned my grandmother's younger brother had died alone in Modesto this morning. My mom didn't want to spoil the party with the news but it weighed on the hearts of those who harbored it.

His life was simple. He never married, cared little for material wealth and read voraciously. He was 91. Reflections on his life and passing bring my big day on an emotional rollar coaster full circle.