The Invisible Man

Last night I was talking to my son, a senior at FSU. He mentioned encountering a homeless man while biking to the store. The man had been a musician at one point, and struck Tom as being kind, gentle and oddly youthful even now. As the two continued to talk, Tom began to pick up symptoms of mental disorder and/or addiction. Toward the end of the conversation the homeless man described hearing voices which could not be suppressed.

Eventually Tom had to leave, pausing to give a few dollars. The man was grateful, but far more so for the conversation, for having been seen. Tom reported his last image was of the man waving, and asking that Tom do well so that he could help “my kind.”

Of all the things homeless persons leave behind - safety, shelter, decent clothing, a chance of a good job, regular meals, possibly sobriety and sanity – the most painful loss is their humanity. The homeless are no longer visible to society, and on those rare occasions when they are noticed, they are viewed with contempt. And we wonder why a few of them get in our face, walk around flying signs where they are clearly not wanted, and in other ways become a nuisance to the upstanding citizens around them.

There is a bravado about men and women who proclaim their love for the homeless lifestyle, and pledge they would live no other way. It is their way of affirming their humanity, insisting that they have choices in their life and are not victims of mental illness, circumstance, and despair. But I have met very few homeless for whom that act is anything but a façade. Given a true choice, they leave homelessness behind very quickly.

This summer uncovered a deep well of homelessness among young families, and theirs is a difficult situation that has rightly gotten a lot of attention, from the public and from service providers. But as winter approaches, it is well to remember those who haven’t had a home in years, and whose hope and opportunities were crushed a lifetime ago by rejection, abandonment, developmental disabilities, mental illness and addiction.

One of these women, abandoned by her spouse, moved me to tears as she described an earlier point in her life, when all her possessions were reduced to a single grocery bag, placed in the back of a stroller which contained her infant daughter. She walked up and down the streets, wondering how she had lost every vestige of normal human contact, how no one she knew or saw cared if she and her daughter had a place to sleep, a meal, or a way to get out of the rain. She eventually lost her child to the foster care system, and soon thereafter lost her last hold on self-respect. But to this day she still hangs on to a thread of hope, that her life will change and she will have a place of her own.

Those women and men who run the cold night shelters and soup kitchens throughout the two counties have a deep empathy and understanding for those for whom life has been difficult and confusing. They dole out not just stew and pillows, but warmth. They place a value on all human life, and learn to know each individual on their own terms. They play cards and checkers, and listen, and affirm the existence of a human soul within everyone who comes for help.

This generosity of spirit makes an enormous difference to many of the homeless, though there are some so damaged and torn over the years that not even the most amazing radiance can penetrate the dark. But in every case, such light is a blessing to those who who live in it and with it, and for those like me who are surrounded by the loveliest people on earth.