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Emilio Sanchez was lost when a volatile situation compelled him to flee his mother's home for a shelter. But he found more than he expected.
By David Dudley
FORJournalism Lab
Emilio Sanchez knew he had to leave his mother's Redmond home about eight months after his younger brother had moved in. Sanchez said the two had argued consistently, and the conflict had become increasingly volatile.
"I knew I had to get out," said Sanchez, a 43-year-old double amputee. "I didn't feel safe there. And I didn't want to cause any problems, or pain, for our mom."
Sanchez had lived with his mom, Eva Ayala, since 2016. That was the year he relocated from Fresno, California, to Redmond after cancer claimed his father's life. But, if Sanchez decided to leave his mom's house, he would find himself on the streets.
"Leaving my mom's house was a hard decision," said Sanchez. "I had no money, nowhere else to go."
Ayala suggested Sanchez try to get a bed at the Bethlehem Inn — an emergency shelter that offers meals and case management services to homeless people in Bend — where she volunteered.
They saved my life
With that decision to seek safe haven, Sanchez joined more than 10 million Americans who flee from domestic violence each year.
Of those, about 38% become homeless. In addition, another group to which Sanchez belongs — people with disabilities — has an especially hard time finding long-term housing after living unhoused. Their pre-existing health conditions deteriorate more rapidly due to sleeping outside, making the situation more urgent.
Sanchez moved into the Bethlehem Inn in Bend. After undergoing an operation on New Year's Eve, 2023, he transferred to the Bethlehem Inn's Redmond location, where he was selected to participate in the BIRCH program.
The program, which is intended to establish stability for unsheltered people in Central Oregon, launched in 2023. It's open to those who are at least 18 years old. Selected participants live in a communal setting in a renovated motel situated at 517 NW Birch Avenue. They must commit to sobriety and a curfew. During their stay, participants are offered comprehensive case management to help them find work, housing, counseling and other resources determined by their situation.
The average stay is around three months, though extensions are possible based upon the client's level of participation. Thirty people are currently in the program. Gwenn Wysling, Bethlehem Inn's executive director, said the program, which has helped 75 people to date, is about more than temporary shelter.
"It's about introducing them to resources," said Wysling. "It's also about building community, which they can take with them when they find a long-term home."
Upon his arrival, Sanchez, who said he's abused drugs and alcohol to treat symptoms of what he would later learn was PTSD, and the depression that came with losing his legs, began attending counseling. He also launched his search for an affordable, ADA compliant home.
"They really saved my life," said Sanchez. "Without them, without this program, I don't know if I'd be alive today."
If I can help just one person
Before his legs were amputated, Sanchez said he worked as a supervisor for Kellermeyer Bergensons Services, the largest privately held facility services provider in North America, where he supervised a cleaning crew that served Home Depot and other national chains in and around Bend.
"I'll always be proud that we kept those places clean, kept people safer, in the early days of the pandemic," Sanchez said. "But I was walking about 20 miles a day. That was no longer possible after my operations. When it was just one leg, it was too painful. It's impossible now."
Sanchez has set his sights on earning a peer support counseling certificate.
"I've been through what a lot of my peers are struggling with," said Sanchez. "I've done the gangs, drugs, alcohol, all that. Now, I want to pay forward. If I can help just one person stay motivated, to improve their situation, I've done my job."
The bridge between unhoused and housed
In January 2024, Sanchez was one of 2,506 residents spread across Deschutes, Jefferson and Crook Counties who applied for a Housing Choice Voucher.
"I prayed every day that I'd get one of those vouchers," said Sanchez. "Without it, I didn't see a way to get my own place."
Funded by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), the vouchers are meant to help low-income persons and families pay rent for apartments on the private market. The program is administered by Housing Works, the HUD administrator for Deschutes, Jefferson and Crook Counties.
Applications for the highly competitive program open each year in mid-January. This year, the application window opened on Jan. 13, 2025, at 8 a.m. and will close on Jan. 17 at 5 p.m.
In 2023, the most recent year for which data is available, 2,447 people applied for a voucher through Housing Works, according to executive director Lynne McConnell. Of those, 572 were offered assistance.
In May, a manilla envelope addressed to Sanchez arrived at the Bethlehem Inn. He opened it impatiently. As he read the letter he said he felt the blood rush into his legs.
"I felt light, like I could float," Sanchez said. "I got it, thank God. I got in."
The first person he told was his Bethlehem Inn case manager, Jason Nunn, who had supported Sanchez throughout the process.
They eventually found an apartment off Highway 97 in Redmond. Sanchez applied and was approved, but he was told that he'd have to wait while the bathroom was remodeled to accommodate his wheelchair.
Sanchez benefitted from a battery of services, including those offered by Bethlehem Inn, Housing to Thrive, which helped him secure first and last month's rent, and the security deposit, and Furnish Hope, which furnished his new apartment.
"I couldn't have done this without their help," Sanchez said. "I'm grateful to every one of them."
We became family
Sanchez was relieved to finally find a home after spending nearly a year in the BIRCH program. But a new concern had been nagging him, stirring his anxieties.
"I wanted to move into my own apartment," he said, "but I didn't want to leave the friends I made at Bethlehem Inn. They're my family. I'd rather spend the holidays with them than be alone."
The morning of Friday, Jan. 3, was wet and chilly. Sanchez sat at the bus stop, waiting to go to his new home. He had only a duffel bag full of his belongings, and a pillow.
Robert Dahm and Regina Luker, two of Sanchez's friends who also live at Bethlehem Inn, approached him to exchange hugs, gratitude and goodbyes.
"Emilio has been such an inspiration to me," said Luker, an alcoholic in recovery. "Anytime I've told him that I feel the urge to drink again, he says, 'No, Regina, you don't need it!' I'll miss his encouragement."
Dahm agreed.
"I'm pretty sociable," said Dahm. "What you have to understand about people in recovery, is that not all of them want to be social."
But Dahm said he saw that Emilio was different.
"He's upbeat, positive," Dahm said. "I love that. We became family immediately."
After hugs—and a few tears—Sanchez boarded the bus to his new home.
A promise kept
For Sanchez, that day was about more than just moving into a new apartment, more than a new beginning. He'd also fulfilled a promise he made to his dad as the latter was on his deathbed.
"I promised him that, no matter what, I'd find a way to keep a roof over my head and food on the table," said Sanchez. "Today, I did that."
While Sanchez said he was happy to sit in his new home, the quiet and solitude that came with it made him uneasy.
"Silence has a way of triggering my PTSD," Sanchez said. "It's going to take some getting used to."
When asked how he intends to cope, he remembered caring for his dad as cancer claimed his life.
"It hurt me to see him in so much pain," Sanchez said. "The only thing that helped was to cook. I loved cooking for him, and he loved to eat. We used it to get our minds off the pain and suffering."
His dad loved big bowls of menudo (a hearty hominy soup made with honeycomb tripe), tacos de lengua (cow tongue tacos), and all kinds of tamales. The food was good, Sanchez said, but the act of cooking was therapeutic.
Looking out his screen door at the courtyard, Sanchez focused on a barbecue grill. Fat flakes of wet snow had begun falling, coating the ground as he spoke.
"I can't wait until it's warm again," said Sanchez. "I'm going to throw a barbecue, and all of my new neighbors will be invited."
Homelessness: Real Stories, Real Solutions (realstoriesrealsolutions.org) is a journalism lab funded by Central Oregon Health Council under FORJournalism (forjournalism.org), an Oregon nonprofit dedicated to supporting journalism statewide. Sign up for weekly newsletters to receive updates.
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