1/8/26

(And now…the rest of the story…)

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

On New Year’s Day, in the evening, my daughter Olivia and I moved our cars up into the parking garage across the street. It snowed, and at my condo, we have to move the cars that are parked outside so a plow can come clear us out. My condo only has a 1-car garage, and I own 3 cars (don’t be impressed…the newest one is a 2018, though I do keep my cars in pristine shape. One car is for Olivia.) After we parked and were moving toward the elevator to take us back down to the street, we heard a car honk, followed immediately by a man yelling. He let loose with a string of expletives, and also a demand to not call him by a racial slur.

Now, this is not unusual. Whether Waukesha admits it or not, we have a sizable homeless population, and many hang around the parking garage, which is also our bus station for Waukesha and Milwaukee city busses. Livvy was nervous, because we would likely have to walk past the yelling man to get home, but I told her we’d be able to handle it.

Before his death, Michael and I did quite a bit with the homeless in our area. We kept a supply of Lunchables, fresh fruit, and bottled water on hand to distribute if we came across someone, and we also kept handy a list of shelters. I bought old blankets and jackets from Goodwill to distribute as well during the winter months. So I really wasn’t worried about this man. The homeless have never scared me.

When we got down to street level, we stopped for a moment and listened. The man had fallen silent, so we left the bus station and headed toward the street. Before we got there, we heard the man start yelling again. As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw him, off to our right, on the parking garage side of the street. The condo building is on the other side. He was still ranting, so I told Livvy we would cross the street and walk home on that sidewalk.

We crossed, and then she took off, walking too fast for me to keep up. The man noticed her and began to yell at her directly. She yelled back, saying, “I didn’t do anything! Please leave me alone!” He stepped off the curb and started walking toward her.

This is when I broke into a run. Full out. If he was going to approach my daughter, he had to reach me first. I would make sure I was between the two of them. As I ran, I called to him, “It wasn’t us. We just parked our cars upstairs.” He hesitated, then turned to head back to his side of the street.

I kept running in case he changed direction again. There was a small side street between me and the condo building, and Livvy was already on the other side. So I flew off the curb and into the street.

I mentioned it snowed, right? And we hadn’t yet been plowed. The sidewalk and streets were covered with ice, snow, and slush.

When my foot hit the street, it also hit some sort of divot and I was suddenly airborne. It was like a swan dive. When I landed in the middle of the street, it was flat out, belly down, arms fully extended in front of me like Superman. WHOMP! Amazingly, I did not hit my head and my glasses remained on my face. But the rest of me was completely flat down in the street. The air was knocked out of me and I was instantly in pain.

Olivia, luckily, looked over her shoulder, saw me, and came running back. When I told her to help me up, she grabbed my arms, said, “1…2…3…UP!” and heaved, without giving me a chance to get my feet under me. And then she dropped me.

I fell back onto the street, hitting with my right hip first, and then fell backward, so I was now fully on my back in the street. I was in pain, soaking wet with cold ice water, and I had no idea how I was going to get up. Livvy was babbling about calling an ambulance, but I knew I didn’t need that. I just needed stable help up.

There was a parked car on the street, so I told Livvy I was going to try to crawl over to it to pull myself up. How I was going to crawl with burning knees and ankles and hips and arms and hands, I don’t know. But it was all I could think of. I was trying to get myself onto all fours, when suddenly…the homeless man was there. Right next to me. And he wasn’t ranting.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you, love. It’s okay.”

I looked at him and said, “Can you help me up?”

He bent down and I put my arms around his neck. His arms slid under mine and around my back. Then he raised me up slowly, allowing me to get my feet under me and stand.

We were face to face. In each other’s arms. And we stood there.

The man made direct eye contact with me. He didn’t look away. His gaze was steady. Looking back at it now, I would say his eyes were kind and gentle. At the time, shook as I was, I found myself thinking, He looks so human.

So human.

He said again, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love.” And then, “I won’t let you go.”

Now, I’ve heard often enough of time standing still. But I’ve never experienced it. Until then. There was only the two of us. His eyes. His words.

The last coherent words Michael said to me before he died were, “I’m never going to let you go.”

On this night, on that street, in the arms of a man who had been raving and ranting just a few minutes before, who may have been a threat, I felt safe. Absolutely safe.

He was so human.

Eventually, I stepped back and so did he. I thanked him profusely. He, in a much softer voice, continued what he was saying across the street. Expletives, mostly. He said someone called the police, the police were after him. Someone called him a racial slur. I told him where to go for shelter and thanked him again.

I wish I’d had the presence of mind to offer him some money, or to tell Livvy to run ahead and make him a sandwich, bring him some food. But I didn’t. I was in pain, freezing, soaking wet…and stunned.

Olivia and I moved slowly back to the condo, and I somehow got myself up the stairs (remember – I live in a three-story condo). On the second floor, I took off my soaking coat, my sopping mittens, checked to make sure my phone hadn’t flown out of my purse. Then I went up to the third floor and changed into warm clothes, while examining the multiple bruises and swelling that were already setting in. Dressed and almost warm, I moved back down to the second floor to sit in my recliner by the lit fireplace.

But first, I stood at our floor to ceiling windows and looked up and down the street. The man wasn’t there. We don’t know where he went, and we haven’t seen him since.

Over and over this week, I have replayed this moment. The gentle transformation of that man. His eyes. And Michael’s words coming out of his mouth.

That feeling of safety. Of being looked after.

I just keep thinking about it. And when I do, I feel safe over and over again.

He was so human.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.