As you probably know by now, I volunteer with the Gifts of Grace Street Mission serving dinner to the homeless in Winnipeg's North End.
If you want to read more about my experiences here and abroad, please follow this blog, It's All About Karuna, or "like" my Facebook page with the same name. Thanks for reading!
Each week I chat with familiar faces as they pass through the line, and with my favourites who I know by name. I am always meeting new people, people whose name I try and learn, so we have that connection when I see them again. They're often surprised that I remember; just as surprised as I am when they remember mine.
There is one girl (and by girl I mean 41 as I now know) who comes periodically and who has stood out to me for a long time. That's because she always seems to be cheery and smiling which is lovely to see in a lineup of people who have little to be happy about. So many are battered with bruises, damaged from substances, or tormented by mental health issues. These issues mixed with poverty are a sad sight.
A number of weeks ago this girl came up to talk to me. At first she wasn't making sense and I kinda just played along, but then she got more serious talking about the people we served, pointing out that they didn't have nice clothes or things and that when I was there, I needed to really be with them, to understand them. She spoke with a lot of passion.
It was then that I had a chance to ask her name. Her response came across as what I would call "wannabe street," you know, rattling off her full name as well as nickname all gangsta-like, which didn't quite fit. I suspect she may have some cognitive delays and/or mental health issues rather than being a gangster. But anyway her real name was Beatrice (which she doesn't go by but which I will use here to protect her privacy).
Now, the next logical question for me is always, "where are you from?" I always like to know that about a person as it always tells me something about them, and often creates connections that you would never know about otherwise. Well wouldn't you know when I asked her, what I got was my own hometown! She went on to tell me that she grew up in foster care and was in and out of homes there until moving to Winnipeg at 14-15. She didn't look at me as she spoke about this and her gaze was far off. It was obvious that she didn't have fond memories of this time. I continued being a Curious Georgia asking her how old she was, thinking that maybe we would have crossed paths. Sure enough we were the same age so it was quite possible. I asked her if she ever went back, and no, she hadn't been back since leaving as a teenager. She also had no family to speak of. It was clear that there was absolutely no connection with a place that she had spent a good portion of her childhood. And that was definitely different for me, as anytime I have ever come across someone from my hometown, there is always some connection through people, places, whatever. I got a couple hugs from her before she left. It was obvious to me that she was a needy girl, and the little bit I had learned about her had shed some light as to why.
Well I just couldn't get that name Beatrice out of my head that night. It's not a common name and I don't know, something just clicked in me that Beatrice could be the same girl that we used to tease in elementary school.
The girl that I remember was dirty and disheveled looking, and she used to bring Klik sandwiches for lunch. She had been nicknamed "Klicker" as a result, as for kids that age, canned Klik was the worst thing ever. But clearly not in her house, or rather as I suspect now, it was all that her family could afford. As a kid you don't realize these things, but I sure do now. Although I have no actual memory of calling her names myself, do I have to take responsibility for being involved, as I doubt that I tried to be her friend and make things better, or try and stop the teasing from happening. Kids can be so cruel.
So I was now mortified, that the girl that we had bullied way back when could be Beatrice. Even worse was knowing what her circumstances had been back then, and that we classmates could have caused her more pain. I was just sick about it. I emailed a couple elementary school friends that might asking them if they remembered what the name was of the girl we called Klik. I didn't want to taint the "investigation" by giving them Beatrice's name at first, but when they initially came up with nothing I asked them about the name Beatrice. It rang a bell to one friend, but thankfully after some back and forth and jarring of memories, we came up with another name rather than Beatrice. I was so relieved. That is perhaps bad to say as the real "Klicker" is still out there somewhere, and I still feel bad for her. But I was relieved knowing that I hadn't contributed to Beatrice's childhood misery.
Now I don't mean to turn this into a Dr. Phil teaching moment, but this was really an "Aha moment" for me (now I am quoting Oprah and referring to Dr. Phil all in one sentence which says a lot about me , yikes!) But I will admit that I do watch their shows, many of which about have been about bullying. It has reached the point where kids are killing themselves because of bullying and bullies are actually killing the kids they are victimizing. It's crazy. These shows had merely been "entertainment" to me and really hadn't hit home. But I had never dealt with the issue firsthand, coming face to face decades later with a girl who very well could have been the girl we called Klicker. Learning the real story of why she perhaps wore ratty clothes, or was dirty, or why she had less than desirable lunches. It was a reminder that you never really know what a person's circumstances are behind an appearance, and that by judging, teasing, bullying or whatever, that you could be causing that person more pain.
All I can say is that I hope any parents reading this will instill this message into their kids. One person's suffering shouldn't be another's pleasure, for whatever the reason may be.
I had planned to write about coming face to face with my own bullying thanks to Beatrice, and her name was going to be the title. But I never did, and little did I know, there was way more to add to this story.
Weeks later I went home for the annual summer rodeo, always the highlight of the year there, well for me anyway. The town fills with people, there's a parade and a fair with the standard rides, sinfully good food, and some honky tonk cowboy events to boot.
Saturday I dragged my mom to the grandstand to watch some chuckwagon races (this is what you become interested in as you get older clearly as when I was younger all I wanted to do was walk around and eat haha). When that was done we headed to the beer gardens, ironically where they only serve beer, something I don't drink. Nevertheless, my mom, her friend and I snatched the last seats at one of the picnic tables and sat down. The only others at the table were a girl in her early 20s and an older guy likely in his 50s. The two were drinking like everyone else, and presented as quiet and to themselves. I have to admit that I was kind of intrigued with them from the start as they seemed like an odd couple. As I said he was a lot older and used a walker. But for all I knew he was her uncle. Anyway, apart from that what I noticed right away about the girl was her smile. I had seen it before. It looked like Beatrice's.
I kept looking and looking, trying to get up the nerve to say something. It wasn't long before I just had to. So I asked her "do you have a sister named Beatrice?" (but I used the name she goes by rather than her real name Beatrice).
The girl said no, and didn't really engage further. So I didn't either. Seconds later though she asked me why I had asked, so I said "you just look like someone I know." She prodded further so I told her I had met a girl named Beatrice (and I gave her full name) in Winnipeg and that she looked like her. Well people, you may have guessed by now what's coming, but honestly!!
Her eyes came alive as she announced that she did in fact have a half sister named Beatrice and that she had never met her. The sister, who I will refer to as Beth, went on to tell me that her mother was an alcoholic and that as a result her older children had been taken from her by CFS. Her two youngest children, Beth, and an older sister; however, had grown up with her. I have to assume that the mother had pulled her life together enough that she was allowed to parent later in life as there are about 17 years difference between Beatrice and Beth. Anyway, Beatrice and her sisters had never met. And their mother hadn't seen Beatrice since she was a child, I'm not sure what age.
I didn't share exactly how I knew Beatrice, just that I had met her downtown in Winnipeg through some volunteer work. And honestly I couldn't share anything more as I really didn't know much about her current situation. But, now the puzzle pieces were coming together. Beth was fully engaged by this point, really excited and just in plain shock that I knew her long lost sister.
I told Beth that when I saw Beatrice again that I would tell her that I had met her sister. She wanted me to pass on to Beatrice that their mother was still alive, but that her father was not. I said that I would.
Then as we were talking I remembered that there had been a picture of Beatrice on the Gifts of Grace Facebook page. I told Beth that I thought that I had a picture of her sister, which of course got her super excited. While she sat and waited I scoured Facebook until I found it, and then showed Beth a picture of her sister, a sister she had never met.
It was such a moment. There was such amazement in her eyes, I'm sure as well because there is a real resemblance. It was emotional for her to see, and after some drinks I'm sure even more so. She couldn't stop looking at the picture.
Then she wanted to show her cousin and jumped up to show him at the next table. Although she had asked me first I have to admit that I did have a fleeting thought that that may not have been the best idea. But she quickly showed a guy at the next table and returned. Before I put my phone away, she asked to see the picture one last time.
Well then we were fast friends! She was I'm sure overwhelmed with this news and so wasn't very focused on her buddy anymore. Rather she wanted to keep chatting with me. The rest at my table thought the situation was crazy I know.
Still pretty pumped up, before long Beth asked if she could take the picture to show her mom and sister who were also at the rodeo. She added that they were mad at her because she was drinking. She was celebrating her birthday that day she said.
So I was like welllll, why not!? I wasn't going to let her take my phone herself though, so off we went to go look for her mom and sister. We found them easily and I'm sure as we approached them they probably both thought what the heck Beth was doing with this chick?
Her mom was pretty worn looking and was in a wheelchair. Her older sister, and full sister to Beatrice (yet with less of a resemblance to Beatrice than Beth), seemed to be her caretaker. Beth explained to them that I knew Beatrice. And so I pulled out that picture again, and showed a mother a picture of a daughter that she hadn't seen since she was a child. Also a picture of a sister that she had never met. Incredible.
They all took turns looking at it, I think in disbelief. The mom told me that at least two other children had been adopted out, and that Beatrice and her brother had grown up in foster care together. The older sister told me that she had been in Winnipeg recently and had looked for Beatrice downtown but had no luck. The sister also shared how their brother (the one who grew up with Beatrice) always wanted to talk about and bemoan his childhood and that this made her uncomfortable. I got the sense that there could be some guilt on her part for not being removed like some of the others, and perhaps some animosity between the siblings for their different experiences. We ended our conversation with me taking a picture of the three of them in hopes of being able to show it to Beatrice one day if I see her again.
I'm not sure if even now it has sunk in what an incredible and chance experience that was. I'm not sure why it happened to me, but am thrilled that it did. As a social worker I know that not all family reunions are happy ones, and that there are deep rooted and longstanding issues in this family that will not be easily resolved. I also know that when I see Beatrice again, that I will need to be sensitive, and not treat this experience as such a joyous occasion, as it may not be for her. But I do hope that by Beatrice knowing that she has family and that they are looking for her, that it will make a difference in her life. That perhaps re-connecting with her family, having roots, and a sense of belonging may provide some healing. For all of them.
My heart is warmed by this experience, and I hope yours is too by reading Beatrice's story :)
