Remembering Martha

Sometimes, the people I meet in my work here  make an instant impression – and sadly, sometimes they all just run together. Martha fell into the latter category. I no longer remember when I first met her, or the circumstances.

She had sporadic bouts with homelessness. Sometimes she would go into longer-term programs and sometimes she would stay with friends and sometimes she slept outside. My friends and I were talking about her the other day and decided she must have left town for a while, because there was a long stretch when we did not see her for about six months.

Since her reappearance several months ago, she has been a regular at our Saturday and Sunday morning breakfasts in Moore Square. She would always be happy to tell you what was going on in her life, or, her favorite topic, what she used to do professionally before she became homeless.

According to Martha, she had worked for the government (in various, unrelated, positions), been a nurse, been a CPA, a radiological technician, etc. Almost every time you saw her, a new career would manifest itself in her history.

On the 26th of July this year, we had a long conversation. She was telling me how she had been forced out of Moore Square the day before, because she had been eating her lunch and outside food is not permitted in the park when they are having concerts. She told me of her career in the music industry and then how she had, after finishing her lunch, came back to listen to Charlie Daniels, who she really enjoyed.

Somehow, we began talking about wine, and she told me her favorite was sauvignon blanc. She went on to tell me how relaxing it was to come home from a long day at the hospital and turn on some relaxing jazz and put your feet up and sip some sauvignon blanc…

“When you’re doing that”, she said “you feel like everything is going to be ok.”

Last Tuesday, Martha was found dead outside Sacred Heart Cathedral downtown. The police have now determined it was murder, and while speculation is rampant on the streets, no one really knows anything.

The one thing everybody remembers about Martha was all the careers she claimed to have. Several folks have pointed to this as evidence of mental illness. I’m not so sure.

Imagine being in your fifties and you live in a world where you sleep outside and no one calls you by your name and your life consists of struggle to find food and clothing and shelter. When that’s your life, maybe imagining a world where you come home from a hard day’s work and listen to jazz and put your feet up and sip white wine and know that everything is going to be ok may just be the sanest response possible.