Two Roads Diverged

Two months ago, a beautiful young woman walked into my life at Joseph's House. She is a loving woman. She craves love and gives love in a way that I have not seen from anyone when they first move into Joseph's House. When you meet her for the first time, you'd think she's my age, though she is 43. She is no taller than me and is pretty tiny when it comes to her weight. She carries herself with such grace and pride, but it does not take long to witness that she also carries a cross. She has AIDS and became very sick before coming to our community. She also suffers from crack addiction, from bipolar disorder, has a history of suicide attempts, and has spent a lot of time in the psych ward at a university hospital nearby. She has "baggage," and her medical history is only a fraction of it. She has four children, a couple of siblings, and a mother who kept her at a distance before she got really sick and was in the hospital. There are somedays that, even through the love, I can tell that she is not whole. Her craving of love is so real because so much of her life she has been held down by her illnesses and held at an arm's length by the people whom she loves most.

It is really easy for me to forget all of this, though. I've watched her grow stronger each day. She eats like a champion, when there was once a time when she barely ate at all. She takes pride in how her body is gaining fat and muscle and that she can often times walk without her cane. She is very honest with herself. When she began to hear voices that told her to kill herself with pills, she reached out to us in the hopes that we could help. When she feels like she really wants to get high, she talks openly about it. She does not hide herself from our community. She trusts us because we trust her.

My relationship with her has been like that between two sisters. We have beautiful days when we can talk for hours - about men and relationships, about hopes for the future, about our struggles and our joys, about our families and our pasts. There is a love between us that really seems like it existed before we knew one another. When a friend of ours died a couple of weeks ago, she sat with me and held me while I wept. She is a comforter. But...then there are those days when we just don't see eye to eye, where we argue about silly little things. It really is a sister-like bond that we have. And because I love her so much and know that she can get better, grow stronger, and one day be healthy, I want nothing but the best for her. I want to see her walk out of Joseph's House one day, with her head held high, knowing that she can take on the world.

Now imagine my shock, surprise and confusion the day she told me that she did not want to start HIV medications - a treatment that will save her live and help her to thrive.

The news came after a memorial service at Joseph's House for a great man who really did touch the lives of each person in our community. I saw my friend sitting in a chair in the living room after the service was over and most of the guests had left. Earlier in the day she had gone to see her HIV doctor, who told her that it was time to start her medications. She knew that this was what the appointment would be about. The day before, she told me how nervous she was to start taking "so many pills" with "so many side effects," but together we had said, there's no reason to worry when we really don't know what treatment plan the doctor will recommend or what side effects that specific treatment plan would carry with it. Naturally, as she sat in the chair after the service, I asked how her appointment was and what the doctor said. I could tell that she was really upset. She began to tell me how awful the appointment was because she really didn't want to start the medications. When I asked why, she responded (and I paraphrase), "I don't want to ever leave Joseph's House. If I get better, I have to leave. I have nothing to go back to except crack. My family didn't even talk to me until I became sick. You guys are my family. You guys love me. If I leave here, I have nothing. I do not want to leave here. I want to die at Joseph's House. I saw how peaceful our friend was when he died and I want that peace for myself."

I sat and listened, and held her hand, and dried her tears. How do you just sit back and listen as someone you love tells you they would rather die than live when there is every possibility that they can survive? I couldn't help but think "WHAT?! Why wouldn't you want to get better and go out on your own and start your life over again?" As I looked into her eyes, though, I remembered that she and I are very different people. She grew up in poverty, unlikely to break through the cycle that holds people in the ghetto. She grew up without much love or support. She has only a high school education. She is an addict and suffers from serious mental health disorders. I am none of these things and have never experienced the things she has. It is easy for me to say there is so much to live for when my reality is not hers. But it is still so difficult to reconcile it all. How can I listen to this wonderful, loving woman say she wishes to die and still express my great love for her, let her know I support her and I'm here for her when I do not agree with what she wants to do? I still do not know the answer, but I just find the strength within me to listen, to hear her out, and to keep saying that I love her. I will never know what it is like to walk in her shoes or wear her skin...all I can do is meet her where she is and offer my love and support...and hope that she accepts it.