Each time we met, Mr. V.* had a smile on his face. Each time we met, the magic worked, like an enchanted parenthesis.

He sang Renaud, declaimed poems, performed magic tricks, wrote short stories, dared to play with words.

He also always had a kind word for us. And so much tenderness in his blue eyes.
I have very few memories of my grandparents, but I imagine that this is the look a grandfather gives to his grandchildren.

© Pierre Lecrenier

A few months ago, Mr. V. lost his smile.

Because for him, it was becoming too long to wait for a warm place somewhere.

Because with Covid, the institutions are saturated and the waiting lists sadly long.

We saw him get discouraged. We saw him cry, he who used to make us laugh so much.

© Pierre Lecrenier

And this apprehension in the pit of our stomachs, every time we went to see him at his camp, the irrepressible fear of finding him dead...

Watching anxiously the drop in temperature and thinking of Mr. V. at night, at the bottom of the bed, when the rain hits the skylight.

Because he is one of the most vulnerable patients. Because with colleagues and his attending doctor, we are really concerned about his health.

Because he is disoriented, Mr. V., and life on the street is much too rough, especially for the tender ones.

After months of waiting, a solution has finally been found. He is now safe and warm.

It was worth it to fight, to struggle against closed doors... and then to believe, to keep hope in your heart.

Mr. V. is smiling again. And so are we.

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(*) We make every effort to respect the privacy of our patients and our professional secrecy. Nevertheless, we want to bear witness to how they have to survive and how we work together to reintegrate them. Therefore, the names of places and people are deliberately omitted or changed and real-life situations are placed in another context.

© photos P-Y Jortay - Infirmiers de rue 2020