Dear Friends,
My younger brother Michael was surrounded by family when he took his last breath earlier this year. That meant a lot to all of us.
Michael had such a rough life. He went through so many things that would break most men. But he was also his own worst enemy.
As his family, we always fought for him. And in the end, when he was sick and dying, we were glad to know that he not only had shelter but also had health care, right where he lived.
‘Nurse Jenny’ was there at House of Friendship’s ShelterCare
program, supporting him and making sure everyone followed his
wishes. And it sounds like, Michael being Michael, he knew how
to make his wishes known, even after he lost his voice to throat
cancer.
I know that it was because of your support that Michael had a warm bed, a safe place to stay, and the health care he needed, when he needed it the most.
Today, I hope you will take a moment to read Michael’s story on the following pages, and take the time to get to know him, if only a little bit. And if his story inspires you to give, to help someone else like him, it would mean so much to our family.
While it broke my heart to know he was homeless, bouncing from couch to couch and on the streets for so long, it gives me peace to know I was with him at the end.
You see, I was always the one who would hunt him down when I was in town and pull him back into the family, even though he kept running away from us, disappearing.
When I got him to come to our family Christmas last year, I knew immediately something was wrong. My tough, strong brother was weaker. He had lost weight, and something was off.
I told him, “You need to go to the doctor.”
That’s when we found out about the cancer.
To support Michael, I took a few leaves of absence from my job in Alberta for a few months in 2025, and then again earlier this year.
I told Michael he had to decide whether he wanted to live or die. And he chose to live.
He was treated for his cancer in Hamilton. I spent as much time as I could with him, staying through the surgery that took his voice, and the radiation and chemotherapy that sapped his strength. But I had to go back home to Alberta. I had a job and a life to return
to — and I couldn’t put those on hold forever.
When I left, Michael felt abandoned. When he was discharged from the hospital, he disappeared. Again.
We didn’t know where he was until he showed up at House of Friendship’s ShelterCare program.
I think he ended up there because, at that point, he had no money, nowhere else to go, and he definitely didn’t like sleeping outside because it was so cold. I’m so glad that’s where he went because he got shelter and health care – and he desperately needed both. It made us all feel a lot better to know he was safe from the cold, and that we didn’t have to carry the worry about his health anymore. That he would get the help he needed.
When you hear about the way Michael’s life ended, you might wonder how he got there.
I have so many fond memories of my brother growing up. When he was little, he was so cute.
We would goof around together, having fun – but if he got angry, I knew to run – because he would not let go of that rage.
You see, we came from a broken family – the aftereffect of residential schools.
My grandfather was in the residential school system, and my dad was abusive as a result. My mom tried to leave my dad so many times, and he kept coming after her, bringing her back home. Every time she left, she left us kids behind, maybe taking one or two of us because that’s all she could handle. There were six of us, and it was just too hard to take everyone.
My brother Michael was often left behind. I think that’s why he always felt like he didn’t belong. That he didn’t matter. And while he didn’t always show us how much that hurt, you could see it in the way he lived his life. He decided he had to be tough and not let anyone get close.
It wasn’t until the day I turned 13 that we left my dad for good, never coming back. We moved from the reserve in northern Ontario, eventually settling down in Cambridge, and that’s where Michael grew up. He would have been 10 years old by that time, and he
had already lived through so much.
Michael didn’t like school, and my mom didn’t know how to handle him. She did the best she could, but Michael needed more than she could give. Michael ended up in reform school. He was gone from our home at a young age, and he’s been in the system since then. He would be in and out of jail, and he would only call me when he needed something.
I think he knew that he could count on me. I’m the only one that never left his side.
Because Michael never got an education and had suffered so much in the reform school system, he turned to selling drugs. He knew one life skill, and that was his survival mechanism.
At the beginning, he would never use the stuff himself. He wasn’t even a real drinker – just had the occasional drink, and that was it.
I would tell him to get out, to do something else. He was so smart. He could have been an entrepreneur, and he loved to write. Maybe he could have been a writer. I always thought there was more for him in this life.
But having my brother Michael living on the streets when he was so unwell broke my heart.
I actually paid for Michael to stay in a hotel room for a month and a half, but it was expensive. I think I spent about $1,500 trying to keep him safe. But I couldn’t keep doing that.
I told him, ‘I can’t have you on the streets. We’ve got to find a solution.’
It was so hard because I couldn’t pay for a place for my brother to stay. He was unhealthy, and I couldn’t bring him to where I live in Alberta. I work – I’m gone 15 hours a day.
What good would it be to have him here, alone all day, just lying in a bed?
It felt like the system was broken and there were no
answers. Nowhere that could help Michael.
I had hoped for more for my little brother, and sadly, it didn’t happen.
But I know one thing.
In the end, he had a bed, a place to stay warm, and he had Nurse Jenny and the entire ShelterCare team supporting him, all in one place.
And there needs to be more of that for people like Michael.
Our family can’t help Michael anymore, but it would do us some good to know that ShelterCare will still be there for all the lost, broken souls like him who have nowhere else to go.
I hope you can find it in your heart to help. I hope Michael’s story can make a difference today.
With gratitude,
Leah, a broken-hearted sister
P.S. Your donation can help men at ShelterCare who are struggling with their health, whether it is diabetes, a heart condition, cancer, or even a chest cold. You can help make sure that when someone needs more than shelter, they can get the dignified care they deserve. Thank you
