The first time I realized how many veterans were homeless in our city it was Remembrance Day 2006. I’d been working at the shelter for six months and just before November 11th was chatting with one of the clients, Peter* about the upcoming Remembrance Day ceremonies. Peter had served in the military for 15 years, some of that time spent in Korea. In his 70s Peter had been living at the shelter for almost a year. He was not happy.

“I hate it,” he said. “Sure, I’m grateful but I’m 75 years old. I shouldn’t be here.”

His arrival at the shelter was the fallout from Calgary’s then boom time. A small 16 unit apartment building set for the demolition team. A building manager who ‘forgot’ to tell the residents about the wrecking ball about to descend upon their homes when the eviction notices arrived. He pocketed their last months rent and disappeared the same day, three months later, when the tenants were rousted with banging on their doors and notice that they needed to vacate within 72 hours.

Peter didn’t have money saved for a new abode and in Calgary’s hot rental market, couldn’t afford the price of an apartment on his own. Everything he owned went into storage and Peter arrived at the shelter.

“I’d just really like to get my medals out of storage for the Remembrance Day ceremonies,” he told me. I couldn’t get his medals but I could get him to the Cenotaph for the ceremonies and so, on that first Remembrance Day that I worked at the shelter, I drove three veterans to the park where an unnamed soldier stands, and a trumpeter played taps and hundreds of Calgarians gathered together to pay their respects.

There were many other encounters with veterans after that. I helped set-up a meeting with the then Veterans Advocate, Col Pat Stogryn. About 15 men turned up for that one and sitting in the room, listening to their stories, my heart ached to hear of broken pride and dreams, of fear and isolation, loneliness and desperation. Staff started looking out for veterans, Detective John Langford from Calgary Police kept watch for them on the streets and slowly momentum gathered for what would eventually become The Madison. Owned by the Calgary Homeless Foundation (CHF) and operated by Alpha House,  The Madison was the inspiration of John Langford and former CEO of the CHF, Tim Richter. It is a lovely 15 unit apartment building in the Beltline District that offers supported living and 24/7 support for formerly homeless veterans.

This Christmas we’re creating Christmas at The Madison. Last Wednesday night, my youngest daughter and two friends went down to decorate the tree and to interview residents as to their Christmas wishes. The tenants came into the common room, helped string decorations, shared stories, gave the girls tours of the building and their apartments and shared their pride in having a place to call home. It was touching, moving, achingly beautiful my daughter told me. “We really felt welcomed,” she said. “Like this was their home and we were their guests and they wanted to make sure we felt comfortable.”

This is an invitation to become part of the magic of Christmas at The Madison.

If you click this link — you’ll be taken to the PDF of details of the Madison Wishlist and how you can become involved.

Namaste.

PS — and to finish Peter’s story — I saw him a couple of years ago after he’d moved out of the shelter. He was happy. Recently married, he and his new wife were living in a one-bedroom apartment just outside of downtown. When I saw him, he looked so different. He was taking care of himself. Cleanly dressed. A jaunt to his step, a smile on his face. He was in the grocery store buying food for dinner.  He showed me the food in his basket. Shared how wonderful it felt to be able to choose his food, make his own meals, cook for his wife.  “I’m grateful that place was there [the shelter],” the wiry 75+ year-old told me. “But I wouldn’t wish being there on anyone.”  We chatted for a bit, he showed me a picture of his wife. I gave him a hug and we parted, both of us smiling over our shared connection.

*not his real name.