Jodene Heider was building a snowman in the yard of her acquaintance’s house. It was January 2003 in Bend, and Heider was living with the woman, a therapist and self-proclaimed shaman, after leaving the hospital for surgery on her back.
In her quest to build the snowman, she went looking for a stick to prop him up. She wandered into the woman’s utility shed, but she didn’t find a stick. Instead, she found a stack of road-kill carcasses, Heider said.
Frightened by the discovery, Heider moved out and was again without a place to stay.
Heider desperately tried to find a place to sleep, driving around town in her car. She said she wasn’t scared, but she was sad. She kept thinking how most people her age were married, with a stable source of income and stable lives. Instead of those things, she drove around just looking for a place to sleep.
Heider stayed at a $32-per-night motel for a week until she ran out of money. On the last day, she called her friend Angie Gass and told her she was going to have to start sleeping in her car and asked if she could move in with her.
Her friend was hesitant; afraid, just like Heider, that their friendship would dissolve behind a new “business” arrangement of splitting rent and utilities, Heider said.
For three nights Heider slept curled up in the back seat of her four-door sedan. Finally, Heider’s friend let her move in — aware she had no other options — under the assumption that they were going to take it one day at a time.
Heider was relieved but apprehensive. She had a place to stay, but by moving into a tiny bedroom in her friend’s house, she was giving up her privacy and felt like she was imposing on her friend.
“It seemed strange not to come over, eat ice cream and popcorn, visit and go home,” Heider said. “I did all of that, and I stayed.”
At the time, neither woman knew Heider was going to be staying awhile.

Moving to Eugene
In September 2003, the two women left the University’s satellite campus in Bend and moved to Eugene to attend school at the University’s main campus.
Her first evening here, in mid-September, Heider expected to sleep in her car because her apartment was not yet ready. She waited in her car in the University School of Music parking lot for darkness to descend when a woman left the school and walked across the parking lot.
Heider ushered her over and they talked. The woman, shocked that Heider planned to sleep in her car, invited her to stay at her house for the night.
Heider accepted. Heider said she and the woman, School of Music Undergraduate Specialist Laurie Goren, are friends to this day.
The next day Heider, a practiced flutist of 35 years, went to the football game at Autzen Stadium to try out with the Oregon Marching Band. That’s when she first met Todd Zimbelman, director of the marching band.
“I remember meeting her for the first time and she was very, very sweet and very excited to be in the marching band program,” Zimbelman said. “She’s really persevered through her physical limitations that she’s having. She did have trouble marching and playing our difficult shows, but she always came to practice and she never gave up.”
Heider played her flute so well that Zimbelman invited her to attend the band’s 14-day “boot camp.” Since then, she has been a member of the marching band, which has played a meaningful role in her life.

Caring for a caregiver
Lately, Heider often finds herself getting up at 6 a.m., eating a bagel with Nutella on it and drinking a cup of strong coffee. She then turns on KEZI news and watches the weather and the headlines before taking a shower. She rushes out of the house, with her hair still wet, and goes to her temporary job taking care of an 81-year-old patient.
Heider is a caregiver.
“My job is to do the things that are difficult for her to do that I can do,” Heider said. “I have a disability too, so I can’t lift anything too heavy. I try to keep it a little low-key because of her condition, but you have to have that humor, and the smiling is really important. It’s therapeutic for me too.”
Sometimes, the caregiver needs care of her own.
Because of her condition, Heider often wears bifocal glasses over bifocal contacts, but still suffers from blurry vision. Because she can’t see well, she often trips over things around the house or runs into walls.
But there is a more serious side to Heider’s condition.
Heider forgets things — often only basic routines, such as brushing her teeth or combing her hair, but sometimes important appointments. Heider’s roommate helps her remember those things.
Heider doesn’t always speak well, either. Sometimes she can’t think of a word or phrase, or her speech or writing will come out in a garbled mess.
“I have this disability and (my roommate) knows how to work with it,” Heider said. “(She) is one of these special people, and she’s even more so because she took me in and she kind of knew what she was going to be dealing with.”
Heider’s roommate treats Heider like everyone else, not like a sick person, Heider said. If she doesn’t have time to proof Heider’s papers, she won’t. If she doesn’t have time to help her with something, she’ll tell her so. But sometimes, her roommate will still come into Heider’s room after she has gone to sleep, just to makes sure she’s all right.
Heider appreciates all of those things.
“I don’t think just anybody could live like this,” Heider said. “She proclaims that she’s not a patient person, that she wants to do something and get it done. But she is patient, living with me.”