Welcome Home

Lee Gernand’s heart ached as she looked out of the window of her upper-floor apartment in Palo Alto, California.  There, below her, sleeping in the bushes along San Francisquito Creek, was her son.  When he was stricken with schizophrenia as a young adult, she did all she could to find help for him.  His illness resulted in behavior that made it impossible for him to live in her home.  The security guards at her condo complex wouldn’t let him in the door.   And in those days it was harder to find shelter and services for him elsewhere.  The anguish of seeing him living in the rough, right before her eyes, was overwhelming.

Her story touched my heart and the hearts of the others who came together in the early 1980’s to create the Urban Ministry, in order to provide better services for people like her son.  Lee was unstinting in her support for our organization.  There was only so much she could do for her own son, so she channeled her mother-love into strong advocacy for the mentally ill and homeless in our community.  She was one of the founders of a local group that later became part of the National Alliance on Mental Illness.  For decades, Lee advocated for local, state, and national legislation to improve services for mentally ill people.  She was the soothing voice on the other end of the phone when distraught family members called NAMI for advice.  She was fluent in the acronyms and argot of the mental health field, but more often than not, her greatest service was simply listening with compassion.

Lee didn’t look like a radical.  She loved nice clothes and, as her daughters report, she wouldn’t even go downstairs to pick up her mail without first putting on her lipstick.  But she was a force to be reckoned with, as any local politician could attest.  She was living proof for anyone who doubted that a citizen without gobs of money or special connections has the power to change “the system”.

Lee Gernand knew and loved many of the people who lived on the streets of Palo Alto.  She, like the rest of us who worked with the Urban Ministry, was appalled that our homeless program was itself homeless, operating our drop-in center outdoors from an old Winnebago parked behind the Red Cross building, in the heat of summer and the rains of winter.  So it was a poignant moment for both of us when, at a NAMI meeting, she presented me with a check for $50,000 from its chapter in Santa Clara County to help fund the construction of the Opportunity Center.  It was also a joy to see her beaming face in the crowd a few years ago, when the Center was dedicated.  The building, which houses formerly homeless people and also shelters the Urban Ministry’s drop-in center, embodied her deepest intentions.

Lee’s son now lives in a board and care home.  Life is better for him and many other people who live with this kind of disability, in part because of the loving dedication of his mom and so many others like her.

Lee died on May 7 at the age of 94.  I had the privilege of officiating at her memorial service yesterday.  She died at home, and her family told me that was just the way she wanted it.  She wanted to finish her days in the place she called her own.  She also wanted that for the people she loved, and for people she never met.  Something more than a damp sleeping bag by the side of the creek, or a battered motor home in a parking lot.  On the other side of the river of life, I pray she’s hearing voices saying, “Lee, welcome home!”