Today as I was driving my relatively new, warm, clean, functioning mini-van with a full-ish tank of gas to drop off my youngest daughter at my sister’s house for a break, I was stopped dead in my thoughts by the vision of a young woman, walking down the road dressed all in black without any shoes. She had pulled her leggings down to cover her feet. I rushed my daughter into my sister’s house and then frantically got back into my car to find her.

A couple blocks up, I found her still walking along the icy sidewalk. I stopped, got out of my car and called out to her. At first, she didn’t hear me, but then she realized I was talking to her and she stopped walking. As I probed her situation, I was looking her up and down, looking for signs of abuse, drug use, injuries. She was covering her mouth while she spoke to me. “I lost my shoes,” she said. She was surprised by my kindness or the fact that I cared. As I convinced her to get in my car and drive the two blocks to the thrift store to get her some shoes, I probed some more. What’s your name, how old are you? Do you live nearby? She answered politely like we had known each other somehow. She was just like me when I was younger, “you don’t look 40” is what she said.

I brought Gabby into the thrift-store and saw that not only did she not have any shoes on, she also didn’t have any socks on. I looked for signs of frostbite but could see very little. Her feet were pruned from being out in the slush and ice. As we looked through the racks, I thought of shopping with my own daughters and realized she could be my daughter. She immediately picked up only black sneakers, or skate shoes. She had things that she liked. I grabbed a toque and scarf, she went to look through the sweater racks. I grabbed some pants. She spent 15 minutes or so in the dressing room, I imagine she was assessing her choices and seeing what pleased her in some sort of pragmatic way.

She came out and gave me a report as to what fit and what she liked, “is that okay?” she asked. The store offered to clothe her for no charge, the clerk and I filled a bag with extra clothes and toiletries. In the midst, I asked if I could take her somewhere. To a hospital? To a centre? The drop in? She said, “Yes, I’ve been there before.”

The whole time, I was thinking about her, the fact that she is someone’s daughter. As a mother of three daughters, I cannot imagine them being in this state. As we walked to the door and went outside, she said, “you know I think I am ok to walk. “ She no longer wanted me to drive her to the Drop-In Centre. I said, is there any family I can call? Your parents must be worried.” She replied, “no, they are too busy.” Then, my heart sank to the very bottom of my stomach. I tried to convince her that no mother could be too busy for her daughter, but as the words came out of my mouth I knew I was lying.

As I watched her walk away, I realized Gabby must have been some kind of angel. Someone reminding me to take stock of what I have. I have people who care about me, who would know if I didn’t have any shoes on, who buy my music and bring me food and supplies. Who send me e-transfers and write me notes.

No matter what place we are in, someone is always worse off. If we take the minute required to pull our heads out the sand to see where the real impact lies.