Julie's Story

I never met Julie, but wish I had.

I wish I could have hugged her and told her that she did not die in vain, and that her death never should have occurred the way the papers reported it.

But sadly, it did happen.

And yet, because of Julie's tragic story, she became a catalyst for change. She touched the hearts of people she never knew. And she galvanized a small group to create a legacy of hope in her memory to bring warmth and comfort to others who might otherwise face a dire situation similar to hers.

Julie, I'm telling your story now. I know you're listening.

Julie's story begins where it ends, during the brutal winter of 2000. Julie, age 40ish, found herself alone, filling her days roaming the streets and spending her nights sleeping in a rather well-off neighbourhood in Toronto. No, she wasn't originally from the area, but it seemed safe and she had the sense that few people would bother her as she "slept" in a bus shelter on Leslie Street near St. Bonaventure Church.

In fact, truth be told--people avoided contact with Julie because she was homeless and was a very different type of woman- she had mental health problems. On that night in late January, the weather turned bitterly cold as she attempted to curl up and sleep with her threadbare blanket and newspapers as her bedding on the bench in the bus shelter.

During the middle of the night, a police car stopped and two officers woke Julie. They offered her a ride to a city shelter. She refused and left "her" shelter until the police moved on. Then Julie returned to her familiar surroundings to try to continue her rest.

Where Julie found the warmth of kindness.

Sometime later, a second police cruiser stopped. This time the officers realized that Julie indeed needed a safer, warmer place and they took her to a nearby hospital because they feared she was suffering from exposure to the winter elements.

Julie was brought to the emergency room. She was assessed and eventually admitted to the hospital for what were the last few hours of her life. The attending physician offered a diagnosis that began with hypothermia, malnutrition, and then possible pneumonia, adding to a litany of medical conditions that afflicted this woman's sufferings.

And here's the turning point: Julie's last hours were unlike many of the long, empty hours she once called living. For once, her life was filled with warmth, care, and the forgotten feeling of the human touch.

Julie never left the hospital, never returned to her beloved bus shelter, and never saw again those beautiful houses she only viewed from the exterior. She died much as she had lived most of her adult life: alone and fearful because the world she experienced was harsh, uncaring, and without any meaningful human contact.

Julie was one of our under-served sisters and brothers who represent the vast multitude of persons who call our streets, parks, and deserted buildings their place of residence-their home. Julie is the poster child of the invisible poor.

Julie's unfortunate death gave birth to the creation of St. Clare Inn.

God bless you, Julie. We promise to never forget you and your sisters in need.


Friar Tom Purcell, OFM Conv.