Editor’s note: This column was co-written by Lynelle Wilcox and Kendra Tibbot of Kindness Closet of Salem.

On Dec. 8, the Salem City Council issued a proclamation that declared Dec. 21 Homeless Persons’ Memorial Day. With or without an official proclamation, homeless deaths weigh always heavy in my mind and heart. So many homeless individuals are falling through cracks in the system and dying on the streets, too young, often alone, sometimes in inhumane conditions.

In January 2023, Melisa Blake received care at Salem Hospital, and then was released from the hospital to ARCHES’ parking lot where she died on cold asphalt in the freezing air. A warming center was open a mile away. ARCHES opening staff found Melisa and called 911 and stayed with her as she died — offering humanity that life and the world denied her. Melisa was only 34 years old.  

A week before Melisa died, a dear friend of mine had died in the comfort of his home. He’d become suddenly and unexpectedly sick, and declined quickly. He lives in Nevada, and his girlfriend created a Facebook group for sharing news, resources, support, and friendship across time and miles. We each prayed for a miracle, as the miracle failed to come, as we grew to know slices of each other.  

I had not met his girlfriend, yet in the online conversations she shared their hopes, dreams, and plans lost. She shared about their love, and she shared stories of his last weeks and hours and moments. It’s not fair and he was too young, and they had just found love this year, and we all expected to be able to hang out with him again sometime.  

Instead, he died with care and comforts, warm and safe in her lovely home, in a hospital bed to make him comfortable, with his loved ones wrapping him in love, across time and miles.  

The very next week, Melisa died. I knew Melisa from working at warming shelters and from sometimes cooking and serving dinners at ARCHES, from Salem’s annual discrimination survey, from volunteering at some homeless events, and from having many reasons to visit ARCHES often. 

When I first met her, she was struggling with addiction. Over time, she shared proudly that she was clean. I have only a sliver of understanding how very hard it might be to be clean when there is so much to try to escape from, as you are living on the streets and camps, with so much weather, pain, risk, harm, and trauma as you navigate each day in survival mode, as people often treat you as if you are invisible or vermin. Not seeing that you are really a warrior who is still standing, against all odds.  

Melisa was a petite wisp of a girl whose life paths had not been easy. She was one of the people who sometimes slept under downtown awnings, because there was nowhere for her to be, and as human beings, we all need some shelter from the elements. She was someone who would smile as she said hello, even though her life was not giving her much to smile about.  

On Jan. 21, 2023, she died in ARCHES’ parking lot. The life and death disparity hurt. The life and death disparities still hurt. She is not alone — too many people are falling through cracks in the systems and dying on the streets.

I am thinking about my friend, Jim, who passed away in early 2025. Jim experienced homelessness for decades on the streets of Salem, often living out of a dilapidated vehicle of some kind. You never saw Jim when he wasn’t accompanied by his three little dogs, Buddy, Cookie, and Carmel.  

If it were not for our amazing friends at Little Critters Rescue and Fetch through Salem Hospital finding fosters for his furbabies, Jim would have likely passed away outside or in his vehicle. Against all odds and thanks to the help of caring nonprofit partners, he passed away in a warm home with hospice care. 

I loved Jim from the first day I met him, hosting at the shower truck day center we host in northeast Salem. He made me smile often with his cranky scratchy voice, frivolous complaints, and small joys found in Converse tennis shoes and gas station biscuits and gravy. He loved Center 50+ meals and the opportunity to air his grievances. 

I miss him. I enjoy talking about him and smile when I think about all the love he must have felt in the last year of his life which sounded much different than the trauma and pain of his earlier years. 

Jim experienced the best things community has to offer in the form of love, connection, support, reciprocity, and acceptance. 

His furbabbies and best companions, Buddy, Cookie, and Carmel are all living their best lives with amazing owners which was Jim’s one and only concern at the end of his life. 

I feel so honored to have shared a connection with Jim and be a tiny piece of the puzzle because I know how rare these happy peaceful endings for people experiencing homelessness truly are. Salem is far from perfect, but we have something really special with the network we’ve created together. 

I know Jim’s story is just one in a sea of others that so often go unrecognized. 
I keep looking for new stars in the night sky to honor each person’s heart, soul, and life. Their lives and deaths matter every single day. Let us never turn a cold shoulder or a blind eye to the suffering of so many on our streets.

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