Commentary: The streets claimed yet another homeless friend of mine

Another homeless man I knew recently died. And as harsh as it sounds, I mostly assumed that he would die sooner rather than later.

Just not this soon.

Normally healthy-looking and strong, he lived a rough life. His body was discovered two days after Christmas on the cold, hard concrete of a sidewalk in Costa Mesa.

After I heard about it, I cried.

He didn’t die alone. His faithful canine companion, Honeybun, remained by his side till the very end. And she was there at his memorial service.

Mourners occasionally walked toward the front of the chapel to pet her while the ceremony was still in progress. She has this comforting way of working her magic — making people smile — even during the darkest times.

A large, blown-up photo of her rested on an easel. It was placed prominently to the right of the pulpit, where the pastors and speakers stood.

On the left-hand side, another easel displayed a large photo of the two of them together. A vital connection for those who would rather risk their lives when confronted with the choice of abandoning pets or moving inside. Some can’t even imagine any other reason for staying alive.

A few glimpses from details out of his recent past, center around a series of events that occurred over the final few months of his life.

From what I was told, he was released from a local hospital a week or two earlier, after being treated for pneumonia.

Homeless patients are known to be “treated and streeted,” as rapidly as possible. The reasons for this seem obvious enough, and in some ways, understandable.

On the other hand, antibiotic medication alone proves no match for chilling temperatures and moist air, coupled with the myriad of physical demands that must be met in order to survive. Fighting illness without shelter is one thing I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Another vulnerability borne out of withstanding the elements, lies in the looming eventuality of having to fend off predators.

As most anyone who has prolonged experience with sleeping unprotected on the streets likely knows, it’s not so much a matter of if someone might be targeted or victimized. It’s more a matter of when and how.

Not only do I grieve for his loss now, I grieve for the hopes of those who honored his life by working so hard in their attempts to save him. And I selfishly grieve with the awareness that I will never again have the chance to enjoy his often-temperamental, generally unpredictable and surprisingly endearing personality.

I miss him. Along with all the other people who cared about him, including Lindah Miles, the person who organized the memorial service and chose to provide his beloved Honeybun with a forever home.

And I’m still here, left wondering if his death might have somehow been prevented.

The writer is a longtime Orange County homeless advocate.

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