On a Thursday in October, I went to the burial of a person we had accompanied, Mr. B.*
The memory I keep of him is the sweetness in his voice and in his eyes when we brought him a sugary snack he fancied.
He was in hospital when I met him, and we knew that his days were numbered because of his complicated health condition.
He was a deep thinker, and, based on his own journey through addiction, he wanted to warn people against its risks. He wished to be seen as someone who helped others.
On that Thursday in October, he was buried at the cemetery of Robermont, a vast cemetery, in a very green and peaceful setting.
When I went to the ceremony, I didn’t know who I was going to find. There I met Roxane (alias), who was waiting for the hearse to arrive and follow it to the designated parcel for indigent people. Knowing that Mr. B no longer had any family or other ties, I wondered why she was there.
Well, Roxane had no other aim than to be present, simply, out of pure kindness. She did not know Monsieur B. She was there on Thursday, as on every Thursday, at the burial of a person, alone, without relatives.
Roxane was present that day for Mr. B. and I must admit that she was also present for me. She accompanied me to the grave to place a rose on it. And she listened to my story, in which I told her about him, but also about all the emotions that passed through me as a social worker, watching the coffin go into the ground.
This is not the first time I faced the death of someone I knew who suffered on the street, and it will unfortunately not be the last time. Mr. B. spent his last moments in a hospital, in an aseptic room and without the possibility of enjoying one last sip of coffee. Alone. I find it shocking, it weighs on me.
Roxane: I wanted to talk about her because, in spite of the distance of not knowing the people, she comes so as not to let them go alone. She’s just there and I think it’s beautiful. Our meeting warmed my heart and touched me deeply, even in a cold and difficult moment.
We daily work with human beings, and every day we meet people who impress me, who upset me. Saying now also goodbye to you, reader, I let my words carry a thought to Mr. B., who died in October 2024 at the Citadelle Hospital after having lived on the street for more than fifteen years...
Story from Inès, social worker in Liege.
Support those who care for the most vulnerable, even in their final moments.
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(*) We do our utmost to respect the privacy of our patients and our professional secrecy. However, we want to testify to how they must survive and how we are working together to reintegrate them. As a result, the names of places and people are deliberately omitted or changed and real-life situations are placed in a different context. There is no direct link between the photos and the stories above.