When You Need More Compassion Than You Have
When It’s Gone, It’s Gone
This is not a story about being a good person. Nor is it a story about being a bad person.
Debra pulled into my driveway on the first Sunday morning in February. I didn’t know that she could drive. I’d never seen it before. She didn’t have a car, for several reasons. One, she said that her eyesight was terrible. Two, she didn’t have a permanent home.
Four weeks, I told her. Try to find something by the first weekend in March. Or the second weekend in March at the latest.
Debra had texted about her housing situation in Florida for several weeks prior to her arrival in Asheville. Like her previous situation, and the one before that, this one was disintegrating. It was difficult to piece together a narrative from the fragments of crisis and outrage, but the basic facts were clear: her place had mold and it was making her sick. The authorities turned a blind eye so she walked out. She walked away from her lease and all her things.
And she needed a place to stay.
She wanted to return to Asheville, the only place she had felt safe. She just needed a bridge. I pointed out that Asheville had become the most expensive city in NC in cost of living, but I really did not know what her options might be. She was…
