In my work, I meet a lot of people, sometimes just once. Some encounters are so vivid, they are seared into memory. I can recall the name, the face, and what they taught me.

When I lived in Montreal, I was the outreach worker for the Anglican cathedral. I ran a drop-in centre right in the heart of the city, a place to sit and chat, have coffee, find friends and a listening ear. The clientele was older, mostly seniors. In that job, I could also provide food vouchers. There were other programs I was responsible for, but those are the relevant ones for this story.

After going to a movie, a friend and I were walking to the subway when a woman asked my friend if they could spare some change. I turned around, and recognized her. "Mrs. Smith (as I will call her here) I haven't seen you in a while. How are you? How is your daughter doing; she was pretty sick last time we talked."

She hesitated, a bit embarrassed, then filled me in on her family. My friend, confused and embarrassed, reached into a pocket for whatever change they had before we moved on. Normally, this person would have brushed past a panhandler, but after an engaged conversation, they could not ignore the request.

But that night going home from the movie, I realized something: the people I knew never panhandled from me. They might come to my office asking for help for food or transportation, but they would never ask for change on the street.

That was something you did with strangers.

That night, Mrs. Smith hadn't seen me, but had asked my friend who was half a step behind. Other times on the street, when I would run into her, she would tell me how things were going, ask the next person for money to get home.

I learned two other things, at least, from Mrs. Smith, because she was someone who would come to my office asking for a food voucher or cash for a prescription. When she came, she would have a long story to tell. The winter before this meeting on the street, when her family was really struggling, she came in quite often. The first month, there had been a bunch of problems in the apartment, and their dog had been sick. The second month, their dog had been sick and one of the kids had a dental issue. The third month, their dog had been sick, and there had been a dental issue, and her daughter needed anti-biotics for the third time. The fourth month....

The learnings sank in because I saw her so often that winter. As her story got longer and longer, I realized that we, the helping community, had taught people that they need to make up a really good story in order to get help. They had to convince us they needed it, so they piled on the issues in order to make sure we believed their need.

And because I could remember that some of the issues she was listing had happened months before, I realized that all it took to tip this family over the edge, was one thing. Their budget was so tight each month, that one extra expense was too much.

Another time, I may delve into the complexities of poverty and the way in our area heat is often the thing that breaks the budget--the cold temperatures we got last week were a real strain on people whose budget is tight. Also, here and now, with rents sky-rocketing, many people know at the beginning of every month that they can't meet their budget. They have to choose heat or food, food or hydro....

I first noticed that challenge in the choices Mrs. Smith faced. But what I experienced that night was the complexity of relationship when some people have resources to share and others have need. In that job, the drop-in centre provided the opportunity to build relationship. But the patterns of the social service community and the disparity of income and opportunity were hard to crack.

This is not a story that provides answers, but it is one that left me with haunting questions, questions I still carry.

Cathy Hird lives near Walters Falls.