the hardest story (n)ever told

Today's post is about this photo:

“There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos.”

And about what this photo meant to me while capturing it and while reflecting on it. This photo reminds me of my brother, Justin.

So, in essence, today's post is about what this photo is bringing out in me. This post is about what this photo wants me to share.

A post about Justin is not an easy one to write (for many reasons). One of the main reasons being, all things "Justin" are profoundly personal to me. Some of you know some things, some of you know little things, others know nothing. Things are things just the same.

There is much to tell about Justin, but for the purpose of what I have been inspired to write ... we will start in Florida. And while I understand starting many chapters into the book of "Justin" does not help all of you (in just a moment you may be thinking, "But wait, how did we get here?"), "here" is where we are just the same.

With that to say, when starting in Florida, we must start in California (because that is where Florida was found).

As of September 2008, Justin had been missing for about a year and a half. Unlike Justin's first stint with homelessness, he made no phone calls to anyone (except me a few weeks into his decision to leave). So September of 08 found Rob and I living in California and searching for my brother, thousands of miles away from what little support system I had, in an effort to find him.

With many more details omitted, we come to a time that with a hell of a lot of hard work, I pinpointed Justin's location to be Tallahassee, FL. I followed paper trails of police arrests (for "trespassing", which meant he was sleeping on benches in places like train stations) and called police departments and enlisted the help of mental health case workers in Leon County, FL. This was September 27th, Justin's last known spotting (Sept 18th).

After what could be a whole new post worth of struggle to get to Tallahassee, we arrived in mid-October. Immediately, I was met with sorrow (the overwhelming sort of energy I experience whenever several types of bad vibes collide to make a tangled ball of terror in my core filter).

I had never been in the deep south. And while I knew poverty (way too well for my own liking), I had never experienced poverty in this type of setting. It was rural poverty, and while not better or worse than urban poverty, it was poverty unfamiliar.

It is important to take a sidebar for just a moment, for me to explain how I have never been more grateful to share my life with Rob than when reflecting on this experience in Florida. I was so overwhelmed at that point with so many things that (selfishly) I had not realized the emotional turmoil this would bring him. What a strong, gentle-hearted, compassionate, and dedicated man. You, Rob, kept me from breaking into a million pieces that trip. And while I never want to have to experience it again, I know you would be by my side in a heart beat if we ever should have to.

We checked into a hotel that was strategically picked to be in the center of where Justin may frequent (close to the library, bus station, homeless shelter, college campus). And we began three full days of walking the streets of Tallahassee with only one goal in mind: seeing Justin.

Yes, this was the goal. We had no lofty aspirations. This was not a flight from coast to coast to convince or "save" or persuade Justin of anything. We came to see him, to hug him, to know he was still alive. And reflecting on that makes me tingle inside like a million ants are marching inside of me, but in circles. Marching in a way that they feel like not a single one of them knows a way out. What that description means to you, I don't know. But this is the kind of post that isn't crystal clear yall.

I could recount for you what walking 10 hours a day around some of the most heart breaking, terrifying, depressing sights I have ever seen while feeling some of the most overwhelming energies and feelings of my life was like. But I'm not quite at the point where I can put myself back through each step of that journey. Because it was each step that made me crumble, even if looking at the whole experience hasn't.

I can tell you about what keeps me up at night. It is the memory of our last day. Rob and I had frequented all of the places we knew he had been (based on police reports and other research) five times over. We had walked in places we felt somewhat comfortable (college campuses) and places we felt really uncomfortable (a park that was made into a 'tent city' for many of the homeless). But we had purposely avoided any area north of the main street.

We knew nothing about Tallahassee, and certainly nothing about the area north of the main strip. But we did know what both of us felt when we walked near it. We knew without anyone telling us, that we did NOT want to go up there (almost as if a force shield wouldn't let us). But the final day, we did. Why? Because we hadn't found Justin yet. And damn it yall, I just want my brother back.

It was late afternoon, it was still really sunny. And Rob and I decided to walk a block north. We made our way to the end of the block and started to turn right around the corner, and I was immediately hit with the most intense feeling of "DO NOT GO ANY FURTHER" that I had ever experienced. Some would have said it was the 8 men hangin back there, all of whom slowly came towards us as we started the corner. But I would tell you, it was the black shadow that engulfed me, even when the sun was shining.

And I can't quite explain it any further than that. Other than the fact that I saw (in my mind's eye) what happened to Rob and I if we hadn't run. And that doesn't faze me.one.bit

Because see, we got on a plane the next day. We left Tallahassee (without ever finding my brother, and giving him a hug and the bag of clothes we carried around every.fucking.day). It was him that lived that black cloud, dodging danger every moment of his life. And you know what, I am not too obstructed by the pain of it, to realize that sometimes he CAN'T dodge it. The danger will eat him.

And it sends me to a split second recollection of him recounting his first year of homelessness (a few years shy of a decade ago) in San Francisco. When he was sleeping in a park with nothing but the coat on his back. And he was attacked by a group of men who wanted his jacket. They kicked him, they punched him (and knocked out some teeth), all to wrestle this piece of fucking clothing off of his back. And he said to me, "Nik, I don't know why they had to hurt me. I would have given it to them if they asked."

And I am not saying any of this to make any of you hurt (although shit, this is some hurtful mess, I know). But just to tell you that this is my brother. He exists. His story does not become untold just because he is not here to tell it. His story is not irrelevant, because you can't see him or because it is too painful to tell.

But I do want to leave you with a ray of hope (yes, please believe that we are still hope-full). On the first day that Rob and I arrived in Tallahassee we stopped for lunch at a small Chinese joint. Our fortune cookie read, "You will find your lost treasure within the month."

Three weeks and five days later (after we had returned to California), we got a phone call. Treasure found. Treasure alive and sparkling.