A young woman sits in a hospital bed,

I’m missing Christmas with my kids, is all that she said.

The tears roll down her face as I give her hand a squeeze,

help me get home to my family, I’m begging you, please.

The reality is that she must stay,

her heart, infected, fighting for another day.

The IV drugs in her past are the ultimate cause,

but the depth to her story should give us all pause.

The start to her addiction not her fault at all,

handed to her by those within these very walls.

She reached out for help but the response was bleak,

feeling out of options she turned to the streets.

Now here she sits in this hospital bed,

worried and scared, her mind filled with dread.

In a place that should provide healing and support,

she finds herself met with those who fall short.

The days are spent making her feel shame,

many providers too distanced to even learn her first name.

Overhead in the hallway, said without any respect,

she did this to herself, what does she expect.

Again and again they fill her with blame,

expecting when discharged she will go back to the same.

But I listened to all the beauty she told,

of the life she could live if allowed to unfold.

And on that day when I held her hand,

I felt I had finally begun to understand.

Her story was not one of drugs and crime,

it was one of strength and perseverance if given the time.

She never did make it home to her kids,

for this is something the system forbade.

The desire to heal and the will to survive,

were in the end not enough to keep her alive.

In time I hope we all will agree,

to see the lives that are out there waiting to be seen.

For there is so much to learn and so much to share,

when we are willing to show just how much we care.