Miracles
Miracles: Addict's life changed by earthly angels
December 23, 2010
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Nancy J. White
LIVING REPORTER
On a cold October night, Stephen Martin walked alone into a thickly wooded area off Warden Ave. searching for a secluded place to sleep.
He was exhausted. The former Ryerson University student, then 23, had been wandering the city for four days. He was addicted to crystal meth, estranged from his parents and had run out of friends with apartments where he could crash. Now homeless, all he had was his knapsack with a few clothes and some drug paraphernalia.
Martin veered off the well-worn path into denser bush. He spotted a big log that would provide some protection. The slightly built young man put on a dark sweater for warmth and to blend into the woods. His hands were so cold that he slipped them into two pairs of socks. Then he curled up on the ground and snuggled next to the log, the fallen leaves his blanket.
“I just wanted to sleep and not wake up,” says Martin. “I didn’t want to actively kill myself, but I didn’t see a way out either. I just wanted to cease to exist.”
Fast forward three years. Neatly dressed in a cranberry V-neck, Martin strides into the residents’ lounge at Covenant House, the youth shelter that became his home for 18 months. It takes him awhile to cross the room because several youth workers intercept him with welcoming hugs. He now has an apartment downtown, a full-time job in retail and hopes of returning to university. He hasn’t done drugs since he came off the streets.
“Every one at Covenant House shares the knowledge about how rough life can be,” says Martin. “Then they see how promising things are here. It gives you hope for the future.”
Decked out for Christmas, the lounge is filled with the heavenly host. Blue and gold paper angels signed by donors cover the Christmas tree and hang on indoor window panes. Some angels bear glad tidings from donors: “Giving you hope for Christmas,” “Remember you are God’s child.”
More than one angel, of the human variety, played a role in Martin’s story.
Dawn Stewart had just arrived at work at Warden Woods Community Centre when a local resident told her he’d seen a person in the woods covered with brush. Stewart’s first thought was that someone had died alone during the cold, wet night.
Stewart, the community centre’s homeless prevention worker for seniors, went into the woods, spotted the body and called out hello. It took a couple of greetings for him to respond. “When he looked at me, I was very surprised at how young he was.”
She also thought how lucky he was: If he had veered off to the other side of the path, he would have ended up in a deep ravine and possibly never been spotted.
Martin insisted he didn’t need help. But Stewart went back to the centre for one of the sleeping bags she keeps for homeless seniors. When she returned, she told him simply that he was welcome at the centre where he could get warm and have some food and water.
“I approached him not as a community worker, just as a human being,” she recalls.
Martin didn’t want to give in, but he was desperately thirsty. At the centre, Stewart gave him the turkey sandwich she’d brought for lunch and called Covenant House. She drove him there, first stopping at Value Village to buy him some clean clothes.
“I can still picture driving there, being in that moment, feeling very humble,” recalls Martin, reflexively scrunching down in his seat. “I didn’t know what to expect at a homeless shelter.”
Stewart remembers he seemed scared. “But the more I talked to him, the more I felt he wanted to help himself. He needed somebody to believe in him.”
At Covenant House, he got medical help for his infected feet, turned in his drug paraphernalia — “I was ready to hand it over,” he says — and fell into a deep sleep in bed. Over the next few days, he and a youth worker came up with a plan for a job search and he started a drug counselling program that continued throughout his time at Covenant House.
“It was so intense,” says Martin. “I feel equipped to deal with whatever comes along in the future.”
As Christmas approached that year, some good breaks came his way. Martin landed a part-time retail job for the holidays, and he moved out of Covenant House’s 94-bed shelter into the adjoining 28-bed residents building, where he had his own room.
“It’s for kids who need some long-term support as they progress to independence,” explains Rose Cino, the shelter’s communications manager.
Martin also called his mother, and they met at a restaurant. “It was nerve-wracking to not see someone for two years and then meet up,” he says. He had been rebellious, unable to live by her rules — curfews, no drugs. “I figured, ‘I’ll show her,’” he says.
Her rules were similar to those at Covenant House.
“When it’s your parent you butt heads with, you don’t take it as seriously,” he says, falling silent for a moment.
But their reunion went well, and they’ve grown close again, he says. The years of estrangement are like “a blip on the radar.”
After four years of not speaking, he also got in touch with his father, who is divorced from his mother.
His job eventually turned into full-time work, and he was able to move into his own apartment.
He also began paying back his student loan. “I spent more money on drugs than I did on school,” he says with a sigh.
He credits the Covenant House staff for helping him turn his life around. “There was someone available all the time to talk,” says Martin. “It was a supportive environment with no judgment.”
As Martin puts on his coat to leave, he walks over to one of the staff to find out when the Covenant House Christmas party will be. “I want to come to visit with all the workers,” he says. “It’s uplifting for me to see them.”