Two blocks from home on my daily walk, and I can see someone struggling down the sidewalk, bent almost double, and looking like they’re about to fall down any second. Wearing a heavy jacket and close snugged hood, I can’t see their face but I stop and ask if they’re okay. Pointless question, as they begin to fall. I grab on to an arm and manage to manoeuvre over to a patch of grass on the curb where they can sit. My talk and attempts at comfort get no response, and in a few minutes the person falls unconscious on their side.

I decide to call 911 for an ambulance, but I need to walk a bit to see the street name sign, I am pretty new here. I head back to the person now stretched out on the street while explaining to the 911 operator what happened, trying to answer her questions – How old is the person? Can I get to a defibrillator? – while other people stop on the street to ask if I am okay…

One man stops to help me get the person onto their side per the instructions of the operator. Meanwhile, the person begins to try to talk, and I ask “What’s your name honey?”

“Betty” she says. *

“Thank you for being kind to her” says the 911 operator.

I can hear the ambulance and in a moment I am talking with them, and now I am free to go on my way, though I get only a few blocks further before I have to sit down on a bench to think about all this. It is the “Thank you for being kind to her” that has me feeling twisted and tortured and completely at odds with my world. **  Because this is a suspected drug overdose and a scene all too commonplace on our city streets, and completely unremarkable.

I am free to get on with my day, but I don’t know how to do that. I feel the shame and horror of living in a time and place and culture where we allow these things to happen without much self-reflection, where some people are self-evidently less valued than others.

How did we get here? Where do we go from here? What do we need to do to recognize that the core of our culture must be simple kindness and the acknowledgement of our shared humanity?

I suppose I must end with a question, because I just cannot get on with my day. I am not okay, my imaginary friend.

* Her real name is not Betty

** No criticism intended of the 911 operator, who was calm and thoughtful and kind.