Half of a Whole

Former Tent City resident Marek Mroczek

"My life is finito."

Even just reading those words stung, a ripple of sorrow that spread hard and fast.

Igor and Marek been virtually inseparable, so much so that was rare to see one without the other. They were next-tent neighbors in Tent City and roommates at the motel where they were placed after Tent City was shut down. There, Marek endured a bedbug infestation and frozen pipes in addition to poor health. Despite the sub-par conditions, in the wake of the social isolation imposed on them by Tent City's closure, it was a comfort to know Igor and Marek at least had each other.

But Marek succumbed to heart failure yesterday, and those words - "My life is finito" - were Igor's response.

Dawn Dixon, outside her former home in Lakewood's Tent City

And Marek's passing called to mind another recent loss: that of Dawn Dixon.

Both had lived in Tent City and were relocated away from their home and community by Lakewood Township. Both health problems that might not have taken their lives had their circumstances been different.

And for the respective people with whom they shared the best of their lives and memories - namely Dawn's partner John and Marek's soul-brother Igor - the mere thought of life without them seems too painful to bear.

Life as they once knew it, by their friend's side, is forever changed. And to them, it feels like it's over. Finito.

The death of someone they loved dearly isn't the only major loss they've suffered this past year.

I remember whenever there was a death in Tent City, people rallied around one another, hugged one another, cried with one another. Minister Steve would give a sermon in honor of the deceased, offering words of hope and comfort. There were tasks to keep them occupied when they might otherwise fall into the trap of isolation and despair.

The residents of Tent City were not just individuals, couples, or partnerships: they were a community that was indeed greater than the sum of its parts. But that community was broken apart because the powers that be did not see its inhabitants as neighbors. They saw only a ramshackle "eyesore" of makeshift tents and shanties. They saw arbitrary faces that reflected various degrees of hardship, but not actual people worthy of dignity.

Those in power paid little regard to the very human needs of community, purpose, and belonging. In their haste to rid their own community of the homeless, they applied little more than a soiled bandage to a gaping wound.

And now, for some of those people, that wound has grown, while their inner circle has been exponentially diminished. How to begin again, how to thrive, when it feels as if someone has taken a hammer to your sense of hope time and again.

Pray, friends, for those who are living with such profound loss, that perhaps we can in some small way help them feel less alone.

Rest in peace, Marek and Dawn. You matter. And you are missed.