"Velvet Box in My Heart"

The following reflections were written by Susan Napoliello in response to the death of Bayview Mission client Margurite:

The ‘velvet box in my heart’ was filled this week with memories of a client who had been killed.

Yesterday, a fellow volunteer called to tell me about the death of a client we served. A little over a year ago, I took over a ministry at Bayview Mission working with people who live on the streets or in temporary shelters in the Bayview area. I’ve had many poignant moments with clients, but none as profound as those I shared with Margurite.

Not the easiest of clients to work with, she would send volunteers scattering in her wake. She often announced her presence with shouting and would confound the most patient volunteer with her peculiar lists of dos and don’ts. Noticing her coming from a block away, volunteers would shout my name, hoping I would be able to contain her rantings and prevent a conflict with other clients. As a group, we learned to read her moods and amateurishly diagnose her symptoms in an effort to rationalize her actions and respond appropriately. We shared stories to help us humanize Margurite’s daily life and bring compassion to our hearts. We celebrated moments when she seemed happy and made an effort to bring joy to her life by little kindnesses that paid attention to her compulsions and phobias.

Hearing her story about being robbed outside the check cashing business where she was pushed and shoved to the ground breaking her arm, brought tears of sympathy. Six weeks later, after she tore off her cast too impatient to let it heal properly, we feared that the swelling would lead to a permanent disability. We came to see her belligerence as a way of coping with life, and she came to trust us, knowing on some level that we cared, that she mattered to us. We knew she didn’t want to be touched, she would pick a fight verbally if she thought you were disrespecting her and she didn’t want people to know she was getting food from the pantry.

Nina tells all volunteers not to judge, to take each client as they come. Margurite challenged us and taught us to embrace Nina’s ethos. She was just as much a God-given gift to us as we were to her. I remember the first time I asked for her name and she told me that I wouldn’t be able to pronounce her real name, so she gave me a name I could master, Margurite.

I think of the last time Margurite came to our ‘new church’. She arrived late, after we had closed the door. Shouting through the garage she announced her name, “It’s Margurite.” As I rose to speak with her, I noticed loving looks from the volunteer, some who had 12 months ago rolled or averted their eyes when Margurite walked up the hill. When I came out, she was sitting on the steps to Nina’s house, just like she owned it, I commented that her arm seemed to have healed and in response she waved it around to demonstrate her new-found flexibility. When I returned with her bag, she lit up when I told her it contained two cans of clam chowder (a passion we all knew about). After I said good-bye and closed the door, she shouted again indicating she had one more request, “Do you have any jeans in my size?” I told her I would try to find some for next week and she seemed pleased. On Monday, one of my fellow volunteers brought a pair of jeans for Margurite and a belt in case they were too large. Margurite never came, and on Monday, I found out why. Over the weekend, she had been walking on a freeway, struck by three cars and killed.

Though I am saddened by Margurite’s death, I am heartened that Bayview Mission, a new church of volunteers and clients, is a mature group, one that has grown over time to transcend appearances and transform judgment into love. I am not worried about how we will all respond on Monday when we meet together. Through the grace of God, Margurite came into and touched our lives. We are stronger as a group and more able individually to see the face of God in our clients. She brought us that! Though I mourn her loss, I am blessed with many treasures in my velvet box that are marked Margurite, the name I can pronounce.