Homelessness Has a Name

Tom and Sally.  No, that’s not their real names, but I do know them.

Like we occasionally do when Bill is off work, we were on our way to the Way Station for breakfast. As we walked up toward the door, I saw a couple sitting on the bench in front of the restaurant.  Next to them were a small duffle bag and a small flowered backpack.  I immediately got a familiar, uneasy feeling in my stomach.  During my time in Hawaii this summer, I was surrounded by the huge population of homeless people in Honolulu. I had to walk by quite often, and I always had a sad, uncomfortable, feeling in my stomach. I tried to smile sometimes and make eye-contact, a few times I said hello, but I could never stop.  Fear kept me from stopping.

When we were in front of the couple, the man simply said, “good morning.”  We said hello and went in for our breakfast.  When we sat down, my back was to the window.  Throughout the course of our meal, I kept turning around to see what was going on with them. At one point, Bill told me someone handed them some money and the woman got up headed toward the liquor store.  I wanted to give them money, but I didn’t want to give them money and have them buy alcohol. Why is it we sometimes allow ourselves to observe a situation and assume the worst?  It bothers me when I do that.  There was nothing that I saw that lead me to that assumption, and who am I to judge a life that I know nothing about?  When the woman returned she was carrying two Cokes.  I was relieved.  Bill of course knew what was going on in my head.  A couple of times during our meal he said, “Do whatever you want to do, Kel.”  I love him for that.  He knows what is going through my mind and supports my desire to try to help.

For some reason, I wanted to wait to see what they said to us on our way out. Was I testing them?  Again…who am I to judge?  They didn’t say anything – didn’t ask for anything.  We looked at each other, smiled, and I continued down the street.  About halfway to the car, I stopped.  I needed to go back.  Bill told me to go do whatever I needed to do, and said he would wait for me in the car.  I didn’t have much money with me.  I put a five-dollar-bill in my pocket, and headed back.  I was a little nervous.  I didn’t really know what to expect.  There is a lot of mental illness and alcohol abuse on the streets, but always there are people with a story – and I needed to find out what this story was.  I wasn’t sure I would find the right words.  What are the right words?  Are there right words?  “Hi, are you down on your luck?”  They seemed appropriate, but what did I know?  I haven’t been homeless.  I don’t know which words to use.  I didn’t want to offend, I simply wanted to find out what was going on, and see if I could help in some small way. 

I have been learning more about homelessness lately.  It’s a problem that has grabbed my heart.  A problem where I feel completely helpless, and like most people, and cities, have no idea what to do, or what the answer is; if there is an answer.  One thing I have learned is that homeless people often feel invisible.  People walk by them, not wanting to look in their direction, or acknowledge that they even exist.  I have seen interviews with homeless people who say that they just want to have a conversation with someone, want to talk to somebody and discuss things, and feel some human interaction.  Such a minor request.  Why is it so difficult for us to stop and talk?  I have walked by so many times and wish I had some strength to just stop and let them know that they are seen.  Fear.  I think fear keeps me from stopping. 

And with that simple, sincere question, I got their story.  We introduced ourselves, and I spent the next 20 minutes or so learning about Tom and Sally, how they became homeless, their families, their health problems, their attempt at getting help from local agencies, and how difficult the past four years without a home has been on them.  I think they may be my age, but the hardship has worn on their appearances.  Their eyes appear sad and without sparkle, their skin darkened by sun, and dulled by a thin layer of dirt, their clothes dirty from the fifth day in a row of wearing them without washing, and their sleeplessness apparent in their lack of energy. 

I didn’t find out everything, but I did find out enough to know that they are an engaged couple, together for many, many years, who truly are down on their luck.  She receives a death-benefit check each month from her husband, but it isn’t enough for rent on an apartment, in any part of town.  It is able to get them a couple or more nights a month at the Travelodge which gives them a good nights sleep and a chance to shower.  They have Facebook and are able to use the computers at the libraries to try to keep in touch with family, though none of them are apparently able or willing to help or reach out. They do have a phone.  They explained to me how many times they have attempted to get housing vouchers, and the many churches they have contacted for help with housing.  Unfortunately, the homeless shelter out here is only open during the winter months.  I also learned that he has early-stage bone cancer and that both of them have back trouble.  Carrying the duffle is difficult and Sally’s backpack wheel broke recently forcing her to carry what little she does have on her back.  I knew I wasn’t able to make all their troubles go away, but I was able to offer a little bit to help make their current journey a little less difficult.  I asked them if they would be open to my bringing back a larger, rolling suitcase and some toiletries, etc.  They were grateful and said they would be there all day.  I told them I would go home, gather some things, and return.  As I walked away, I wonder if they believed me.  By the looks on their faces, I think they may not have. 

I was able to return with a good, sturdy, rolling carry-on filled with clean t-shirts, some leggings, clean socks, a variety of toiletries, some food bars, crackers, stainless water bottle for refilling, a little money, a towel and two washcloths. I told them about the towels and said that if they didn’t need them and didn’t want them taking up space, that I would gladly take them home.  Sally with a twinge of optimism said that they would keep them because if they got their own place, it would be a good start. I couldn’t decide it that statement made me sad because all they would have to start a new home would be some towels, or happy because she was looking forward and hoping for a better future.  I showed Tom how he could wrap his duffle straps and carry it on top of the roller, then neither one of them would have to carry anything.  He kind of snickered and said he hadn’t thought of that and was happy for the tip. They were grateful for the new suitcase particularly, and the new, clean items.  We said our goodbyes and I told them that I would look for them around town and that if I saw them, I’d stop for some conversation and a cold drink.  They liked that, and so did I.  Are we friends now? Not really.  Are they a project for me?  Definitely not.  I don’t know how to explain what we are, or the impact that yesterday had on me.

Fear.  I didn’t let it prevent me from stopping yesterday, and I am so glad.  Just before I left, Tom thanked me by name.  He had remembered it from when we had our first introductions.  That made me happy.  I returned by using their names.  Homelessness has a name.

I expect to see them again and plan on stopping when I do. If you have a couple dollars and would like me to pass it on to them, I gladly will.