On Monday we had a remembrance of a different sort. A few folks gathered quietly in our church to remember Bill.
He was a veteran, not of some foreign war, but of bars and backlanes, of personal battles and private struggles. On October 30, he was one of two people who died in a rooming house fire. You may have missed it in the news. Another drunk, another fire, another tragedy – life goes on…
His sister came from BC. She said she didn’t want to believe Bill was gone until she saw his body. At the funeral home, she did the paperwork necessary to take her brother’s ashes home. Still in shock, she came to our church two hours before a short memorial service.
We chatted for a while about her brother. We walked two blocks to the house where he died. When I asked her if she wanted something, she said, “I just have to see where he lived, to see where he died.” The smell of smoke still clung to the house, seeping through walls and the boarded windows and doors. We stared quietly at the windows of his apartment.
Two years ago, Bill moved here from BC, on a “quest” to find his natural father. Whatever the intent, it became just another failed attempt to provide structure to a chaotic life.
With an edge of bitter sadness, his sister recalled a litany of rejection and rebellion. She remembered when Bill started acting out. It started with crazy stunts. Shooting off his mouth. Neighborhood daredevil. Riding his bicycle down the slide in the playground. Getting hurt, developing a reputation. By 11, he was fully involved in a recycling program of dysfunction - through a succession of foster homes, and later, prisons.
His sister commented, “He once said he felt safer in prison than out on the street.” I guess that explains why he found so many ways to return. Prison provided a structure for life that he didn't provide for himself.
We wanted to force him “inside” to protect us. He sometimes willingly opted for prison’s weird protection from the life on the “outside.” For Bill, the walls, guards, schedules and routines of prison provided some respite from daily neighbourhood temptations. A break from a multitude of expectations and decisions.
Outside again, his health and circumstances got worse. He tried sobering up. For a while, things were getting better. At our little memorial service, two workers from the Salvation Army said they saw him doing real well. He found occasional work on a local roofing crew. He sometimes helped us with our Lazarus Housing project. He started looking for a full-time job. He talked about never drinking again.
Like many folks around here, Bill was fighting battles with his past, warring with personal demons. It looked like the tide was starting to turn. But in this personal war, as in wars of nations, going off the offensive or even a momentary lapse in defenses can be deadly.
On October 30, Bill passed out and died drunk in a cooking fire. He didn’t give his life to save others. Actually, his fire took the life of an innocent woman. His discharge was not honorable.
While his story and his battle isn’t the stuff of Remembrance Day services, we must remember him. He lived and died in our neighbourhood. We remember our battles against similar monsters. We will remember that Bill helped us at times, and hoped to help us more.
How will we remember? We’ll remember by working. We’ll remember by getting to know more of the people like Bill in this neighbourhood. We will take note of their personal battles. We will fight alongside them as we are able.
Today is Remembrance Day. Last Monday was also a day of remembrance.
Whether our memories inspire or challenge us, they must instruct us.
There are still too many wars to be won.
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca