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When we go to Kensington, we hope that we don’t see some of our favorite angels down there again. On the other hand, if we don’t see them, we worry about where they are. Have they OD’d? Did they go to treatment? (That’s what we hope for.) Sometimes we hear about them from others on the street, but most of the time they disappear and we don’t hear anything. We see N just about every week – young, beautiful, sweet kid who has been out there for as long as I can remember. He’s always happy to see us, and hangs around to talk. He’s in his early twenties, and though I’ve never asked him, I wonder where his family is. Do they know where he is? That he’s still alive? Do they care? Some of them tell us that their families don’t care. I wonder if that’s true, or if that’s just what they believe and tell themselves. I know I would’ve given anything just to hear that my loved one was alive. Your standards become lower if you love someone who is in active addiction. Instead of hoping that they will get that perfect job, or find a great place to live, or go to college, you just hope that they are still breathing. You hope that someone gave them a hug today, or that someone showed them kindness.

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