Brian worked for over a decade in home improvement and the Maine lobstering industry. When he became disabled and his income was greatly reduced, the challenge of making ends meet became overwhelming. With no stable housing options, Brian lived out of his truck for years, losing track of time and relationships in the process.

The recovery and value of incomplete memories during difficult periods is a focus of the recent book “When We Walk By: Forgotten Humanity, Broken Systems, and the Role We Can Each Play in Ending Homelessness in America.” Authors Kevin F. Adler and Donald W. Burnes argue that policymakers and advocates should embrace the fragmented and sometimes hard-to-reconcile bits of memory available from people who have experienced homelessness. These fragments, they suggest, can be assembled into collages that vividly illuminate the issue in ways data alone cannot fully capture.

Brian’s story is a vivid example of this. His fragmented memories include snapshots of struggle and resilience. After years of living in his truck, his life took a turn when his 15-year-old son came back into his life. Determined to provide a stable future for his family, Brian began persistently making phone calls to learn about available resources: help finding housing, accessing healthy meals, and securing school supplies for his son. His determination paid off when Kami, a case manager at Tedford Housing, secured a unit for Brian and his son at Tedford’s family shelter.

During their stay, Brian recalls the several months as a blur of paperwork, preparations, and learning new skills. “Kami was there any time I called her,” he says. “There’s no specific moment where I felt most supported because she was there the whole way through.”

Adler and Burnes dedicate an entire chapter to the type of support Kami offered, exploring the concept of relational poverty. While it’s no secret that homelessness and financial poverty are closely linked, Adler and Burnes highlight how stigma and shame often lead to profound isolation and loneliness for individuals experiencing homelessness. This isolation, they argue, is one reason why these stories so often go untold. “As humans, we need more than a physical home: we need a social home as well,” Adler asserts. Brian had begun to rebuild that social home, finding connection with his son and with Kami.

A second turning point came when Brian joined virtual parenting classes. There, he connected with other fathers and began to feel more confident in his ability to provide a stable, supportive environment for his son. Up until that point, Brian admits, he had felt immense pressure to get everything right in order to be a good father. Talking with other fathers helped him realize that he didn’t need all the answers—he just needed to show up and continue learning.

Brian remembers the moment this past March when Kami shared the good news: Brian and his son would be moving into their own apartment in Lewiston. Walking into their new home, Brian felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing they had built something stable together.

As they settle into a new chapter of life, Brian is grateful for the consistency school provides his son, now a high school sophomore. Looking to the future, Brian anticipates another turning point in his story. “One day, I hope to move south, but I’ll always keep Maine close to my heart and visit often,” he says.

Months after moving into his new apartment, Brian reflects on the restoration of key pieces of his life—a renewed connection with his son, the stability of a home, and the confidence to face the future. With Kami’s support, Brian’s story is a reminder that authentic stories are powerful, even in moments of lost time. It just often takes a compassionate listener to piece those stories together and work toward stability.

Katrina Webster is the development and communications associate at Tedford Housing.