J.S.

I just hung up the phone with the Los Angeles coroners office speaking with the investigator who is covering my client's case. She spoke so bluntly, matter of factly, and cold that I almost found myself getting angry. I couldn't do her job, as I am sure many people wouldn't want to do mine. J.S. was an awesome fellow- a big man with a long white beard and if he wasn't wrapped in that sarcasm or negativity that almost matched mine, I feel he could have easily been mistaken for Santa Claus.
He had lived in skid row- that dirty lonely cold and dark area of downtown that no one deserves to live in, let alone die in for years. He had been working with us for almost a decade- he and I meeting about a year ago and quickly becoming close due to the likeness in our personalities and views of the world. Distrusting, sarcastic, chain smoking, coffee drinking, shit talking man that he was, it was impossible for him not to make me laugh and also make me wonder who he was. He didn't share much personally; what events led him to become homeless wrapped in skid rows single room occupancy curse is still to me unknown.

When I was speaking to the investigator she told me he had an x-wife- one fact I knew because of what he shared about bad relationships and never wanting to let someone into his life again- though I never knew her by name or any events that happened in his marriage. The investigator also told me he has two sisters- or so history would seem based on records. I never knew of them or their existence.

In addition to these, the investigator told me he died of natural causes, clogged arteries and a fatty liver- a sigh of relief came when I understood it was natural, that no one had hurt him. She then proceeded to tell me that he also had massive bruising over his body and these and other symptoms such as the fatty liver are signs of alcoholism. I never knew him to drink. He never shared that with me. The investigator also informed me that when she questioned people who lived in his building they also reported him to be a drinker. I became quiet- listening to this lady describe someone I thought I knew- and something so common it should have come to no surprise considering where I work, but it did.

As I hung up with this woman I sat on my floor in the quiet and thought about my job. How well do I know any of my clients. I usually shy from calling them clients as it assigns a cold barcode feel to a human being however terms like member or consumer also sound equally as bad to me therefore when addressing them I call them friends. Who was this friend? How could I have missed the way he treated his isolation and depression. Every tuesday he came to my group and at some point he would always say- I just want to get home and lock the door so I can close out the world and feel safe- he told me how much he liked his apartment and how that was his comfort, safe area. But was it? Why was this man so lonely that he drank the way he did- or did he. I don't know how I wouldn't have known it. However it makes me so sad knowing this man didn't tell me, confide in me, or reach out to me. I don't know maybe he did- maybe that's what his sarcasm was for- his way of connecting to me.

I just can't get over that he died alone. If he drank it was obviously for a reason, the way alcohol affects me- there is always a reason for it. Was he lonely? I hope he knew that I, we, really cared about him. No one should ever die alone in their home, flat on floor laying there for days, until a stranger discovers them. And no one should ever die in skid row. In our group we would often talk about developing passions in life and identifying our interests, his was always watching movies and having a good cup of coffee. We made an extra pot during group and we all raised our cups to him. Two months ago I talked him into joining us on our outing to the Natural History Museum, when we all sat on the crowded bus together I looked at him and laughed, Aren't you glad you came- I asked him. He laughed and told me this was the first time he been out of skid row in years and that he was thankful however I was crazy for making him do this. We laughed.

I asked the investigator what happens if the family does not get in touch with the coroners office after they receive a notification letter - what happens to this mans body, his possessions? She told me that it would be for the office to decide however remains that are not claimed get cremated and buried in a public plot. How is this fair or right? I asked her if we could pick up the ashes in order to honor him and scatter them and she informed that it is something kin can only do unless we petition the court.

I don't know what stance the county takes on this. I hope someone comes forward to claim his remains, I hope some part of his family that was unknown to us comes forward and cries when they learn he is gone. I wonder what he was like as a child, what he looked like when he was six, and why his life turned out the way it did.