THE SMELL OF HOPE

Her cool reserve crumples. She’s been the problem-solving nurturer thus far, but this has left her speechless. “Oh dear man,” she says, remaining stoic for his sake.

But perhaps she thinks dammit, he’s going to wake up every day comfortable if I can help it.

It is late 2015. I’ve kept in touch with him through the odd phone call and Facebook, where for a while his handle was Dark Kingdom. What a card.

Here’s a kid who doesn’t know anyone in Toronto, all alone and blind in Canada’s largest metropolis. He can’t just walk anywhere; he has to first spend time memorizing the route. Even so, he takes the bus and trains to school every day. In college, he’s an exemplary student and passes everything.

The cataract that was just beginning to appear in his left eye back when he first worked for me has expanded to several. I once asked him about wearing sunglasses, Stevie Wonder style, and he refused. I notice that he wears them now, just so he doesn’t freak people out. He’ll lose that left eye at some point. We talked about putting in a half glass eye as if we were discussing buying a watch.

He needs people, I thought to myself. He needs to connect with those around him who can lend a hand to this proud young man. They say a society is only as good as it takes care of its vulnerable. He’s a sweet and tender soul with the heart of a lion. I could tell he was lonely.

On that Sunday afternoon, I was desperately trying to think of how I could plug him into others, though at the time I lived 150 kilometers away, even further now.

He likely wouldn’t go through all the song and dance of filling out forms, determining eligibility and being put on a waiting list, all to satisfy some helping bureaucracy he’s never relied on before. No. He would suffer on rather than go through all that. Not his style.

Unless he could somehow be discovered by good people who wouldn’t mind visiting, I mused. He needs eyes, the eyes of friendship. Only by creating some kind of support network would he stand a chance of being able to chase his dreams of living a great adventure in Canada’s largest city.

I wondered if I could find one person to get the ball rolling. I needed someone fast and capable, someone I could trust completely to do right by my friend. I needed someone with compassion, with a heart as big as his. I needed a wonderful giver with a talent for problem solving.

I called my missus’ sister on the way home, crossing my fingers.

She lived near the airport, ten minutes away from him if there’s no traffic. She is the gal I once advertised on my Facebook wall to eligible bachelors, drawing the ire of feminists friends in the process. I did it to signal how much she’s appreciated, and she got a real chuckle out of it. She can cook a meal just as well as she can swing a hammer, a true renaissance girl…

Without hesitation, she agreed to visit him.

I sent her pictures of his empty place. She arrived the next day much to my relief. She brought friends. She is like that, a natural networker. She can nurture people like they were her own. My kids adore their auntie.

He soon had a big comfy chair with attached ottoman, suitable for taking naps, thanks to her and a co-worker. It was the first soft thing he’d sat on in months.

She brought him bedding–he’d been sleeping under his amassed clothing. They’ve become friends. He confides to her his challenges. She listens and helps.

She suggests brown as a colour for drapes. He tells her he’s trying to remember what brown looks like. She takes him to Value Village to get new used clothes. He’s got a coffee maker now. She loves to shop, especially for a deal. They’re matched. She visits, and for a while texts like he’s her little brother, under her protection.

She took him to Dundas Square for New Year’s Eve music and celebrations. Instead of her hanging on the arm of another date, he held her elbow as she guided him through the crowds. They watched and listened to fireworks explode between the twin buildings of city hall. They took pictures, and selfies.

At the subway returning home, despite the rushing crowd, security held everyone back and ensured they embarked first. The white cane has power.

She introduced her new friend to others. They’re curious about this blind kid with the great attitude. One evening she and a friend sat in his apartment, all three of them talking together into the night. They kept the lights off, immersing themselves in his experience.

This same person mentioned his visit to his friends, one of whom suddenly realized he had some “extra money,” insisting it go to him. That credit card debt he was carrying disappeared.

Dumbfounded, he is a bit embarrassed when her friends pick him up. He does his best to flirt with the store staff and make everyone laugh. As he accepts his condition, being relaxed about being blind, those around him accept their own limitations, though not as limitations, but as qualities worth sharing. By simply being himself, he teaches self-acceptance.

Though he may feel a bit awkward about how others are so curious about his blindness, something he’s made normal after more than a decade and a half, he’s there to share his life. Absent this sacred purpose, life is aimlessness, confusion, an existential uncertainty, and intolerable loneliness. We need to belong.

Every time someone meets this self-effacing blind man, they are struck by his courage and perseverance. He serves as inspiration. Of course, I don’t tell him that quite in those words. Instead, I suggest he’s performing a public service by being an ambassador for the blind. I frame it as an obligation.

He admits it feels good to be useful. Instead of being cooped up in his tiny apartment, he’s sharing, and allowing others to share with him. This opens the door to more sharing.

Who knows how long this will last but in my heart I hope he’s ricocheting through an ever-expanding network of people in one of the greatest cities on earth. Toronto the good, it has been called.

His special talent is that he gives permission to those who encounter him to share their gifts. You are compelled to feel an overwhelming gratitude once the magnitude of his challenges are understood. He reminds us of how much we need each other, and how so very easy it is to give a helping hand to another.

One single person can make all the difference. One act of kindness by someone like her can reveal a whole new world to a blind kid living alone on the edge of Toronto’s ghetto. Like a web of goodness, that influence spreads beyond and continues to expand, tying its members together in mutual empowerment.

Most of all, his hopefulness has given way to potential.

Without hope, life stops in place. Without hope the idea of confidence becomes an insurmountable obstacle to living a life of possibility. Thoughts remain thoughts, never approaching execution. Hope is contagious. That’s his gift to us all.

“Perfumes are my thing,” he tells her one day. “I can take a smell and make dreams with it.”

She smiles, knowing this is a good sign while trying to remember her morning and what scent has him so intrigued.

Forever hopeful indeed.

Questions? Comments?

Stay powerful, true and free!

cw