Finito for the duration

In yesterday's post, I was going back and forth about whether it was time for me to step away, temporarily, from my volunteer work at St. Francis House, a day shelter in downtown Boston for those experiencing homelessness or just plain old poverty. 

Yes, I love my work there and value the time I spend signing guests up for showers, serving them oatmeal, finding them a shirt that looks good on them... I don't even mind the more tedious tasks, like addressing envelopes to donors. (People are more likely to open an envelope if it's hand-addressed. At least that's the theory.)

No, I don't want to put myself at risk of catching coronavirus and turning into a Typhoid Mary for my friends and families. I may well catch it anyway, if the "nearly half the population" worst-case scenario plays out over the next year. But the guests at St. Francis House are an especially vulnerable population. When coronavirus starts hitting folks at the lower echelon of society - most of the cases in Boston are Biogen execs who caught it at a conference - it will sweep through those who are homeless. If you're spending the night in a massive dorm room at the Pine Street Inn (Boston's largest night shelter) and the guy on the cot next to you has COVID-19, well... And our guests are often in precarious health to begin with, and while most of them somehow manage to keep it together, they don't always have the opportunity to practice 20-second handwashing techniques or do social distancing. 

Once coronavirus hits the shelters, BOOM!

Yesterday, in the real, non-blog world, I worked my usual Thursday shifts, and ended up talking about the situation with a couple of my fellow volunteers. The folks I spoke with are "older" - in those pesky at-risk demographic slots - and we were voicing our concerns about whether to stay with it or take a temporary leave of absence.

We heard rumors: Health Care fo the Homeless had shut down it's volunteer program. The Greater Boston Foodbank was temporarily closing.

Should we stay or should we go.

Mike, my closest colleague there, came down on the side of "go". His spouse is has some health issues, and he felt it was prudent to stay away for a while.  Heather, another volunteer I'm friendly with, was on the fence. We noted the absence of some of the regular volunteers from the retiree-brigade. Were they on vacation, or had they made their decisions?

I had pretty much decided that I would work the shifts I was committed to through next Tuesday, and then step away for the duration - whatever that means. 

Then the decision was made for us: the volunteer program - and St. Francis House has hundreds of volunteers - has been suspended until further notice.

I know what this means for the staff - additional duties to take on in the absence of volunteers - and for the guests - some possible diminishment in the services (will we be able to keep serving 2 hot meals a day, prepped and served by volunteers?) and some definite diminishment in human contact. No one volunteers in a homeless shelter for the prestige or the gloray. What motivates you is working with the guests. Not being there to chat with folks will be a loss on both sides of the equation.

I worry about our guests. Who among them will no longer be there when they call the volunteers back in? J is young, but he's got some bronchial issues and has had a couple of hospitalizations this year. R is paranoid - he once told another volunteer that he suspected I was from the CIA and spying on him - will he be too paranoid to seek medical help? What will happen to B, to C, to K, to A? M? I love kidding around with M. WILL THEY ALL SURVIVE?

I worry about our alumni, those who've found housing and stop coming in. (Some who do find housing continue to come in for food, clothing, and company.) L got housing last fall. I used to love talking sports with him. He is a true character who earns his living working concessions at Fenway Park and the Boston Garden. The hockey and basketball seasons have been suspended, the baseball season postponed. How will things work out for L? Before he got housing, on baseball nights when it was too late to get back into Pine Street for a bed, L slept on a cot in the warehouse where his boss's sausage carts are stored. What's going to happen to L? Will he be able to keep his housing?

I was relieved when I got the email letting us know about the suspension of the volunteer program. But I also cried. This is a real loss, and I hope it's one of short duration. My colleague Mike and I have been going back and forth on email, talking about how sad we both are, how bereft we feel. "This, as you know, is my religion," Mike wrote. Same.

God - if here is a God - please make this all go away...