Speculating as to why some people get so angry at the very sight of the homeless.

I think the anger might be covering up fear. The few times I’ve felt it stirring, it was fear. Specifically of aggressive panhandlers. People who don’t respect the word ‘no’ really bother me, panhandling or not.

But since becoming homeless myself, I have not met a single homeless panhandler. Not saying there are none out there   –   just that I haven’t encountered one. The homeless people I’ve encountered are just trying to survive the day, to keep clean and find something to eat, and to find a safe place to spend the night, without having their few remaining belongings stolen. As I said at the start of this blog, that’s a full time job.

Now I know what it’s like myself to get those hateful glances and muttered comments, when someone passing by figures out my secret, that I’m one of the homeless. And I’m not panhandling. I’m not bothering anyone. I expect nothing, I feel entitled to nothing. Lately I don’t even feel entitled to what’s been offered me. I’m learning that people very often don’t mean what they say. Not at all.

I’m thinking of Louis CK’s routine about people’s ‘believies’. People want to see themselves as generous and helpful, of course. But often they don’t realize what that would actually entail.

People also fear being taken advantage of, they fear having their lives disrupted. Of course. They fear needy people who won’t go away and leave them alone after they’ve given all they feel they can. Again, people who won’t respect the word ‘no’.

They probably fear deep down that homelessness could happen to them or to someone they love, and they don’t want to think about that. So they view the homeless as ‘other’, as a subclass of derelicts, because it makes them feel immune and therefore safe.

And then there’s just plain xenophobia, which sounds like this: “That one’s different, kill it.”

Tomorrow is shower-and-laundry day at the church again, plus a free hot lunch and a food box. God bless Set Free Ministries and all such organizations, for giving the homeless a place to go where people won’t be hating on them.

Won’t be hating on us.

Got to see my son today, the one who was hit by the SUV. Thank God he’s recovering nicely. Thank God he’s recovering at all. I can’t bear to think of what could have been.

While I was there, my daughter came in. She cracked some jokes as if nothing had happened, and I cracked some jokes as if nothing had happened. And then I straight up told her a lie. I did. I told her I’m couch-surfing with friends. She has no idea I’m living in my car.

I’ve always been so careful not to lie to my children. Yes I’ve broken promises I didn’t intend to break  –  but I’ve always been so careful not to straight up lie to them. My husband and I didn’t even teach them that there was a real Santa Claus/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy. Because we wanted them to know we would always tell them the truth to the best of our ability.

So this thing today was a real low point.

Then I went to the shelter for dinner, and there I discovered that, despite recent appearances, I still do have a heart.

At the table behind me, a mother and her little girl were saying grace  –  and I heard the little pray, “God bless Daddy  –  but please don’t ever let him come home again.”

That did it. I ran into the bathroom and bawled my eyes out.

After the tears stopped, I was hugely relieved. I felt like myself again. I even felt like, if I had it to do over again, I would have told my daughter the truth about my continued homelessness. Even if she didn’t like it. Even if she got mad at me.

I do get it that if I lost all human emotion, I might be able to better survive (at least physically) this experience of being homeless. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to turn into a monster, even if it would make things easier. I choose to remain human.

(From my journal)

Today at Set Free Ministries I met two homeless grandmothers.

The first was a woman in her late sixties, whom we’ll call Terri. Adorable smile, like a little Kewpie doll, not a tooth in her head. Friendly and vivacious, a real ray of sunshine. The kind of person you’d expect to see at a church bake sale   –   not a church soup kitchen. We sat together at lunch, talked about our grandkids, exchanged phone numbers.

Terri told me she is on the verge of getting housing, but that for the past two years she’s been homeless on the street, not even a car to sleep in. When I asked her how she has survived, I thought she would relate some tips and techniques. How she found safe places to sleep, how she kept clean before the church brought in the mobile laundry and showers, stuff like that.

It was the only time her smile faded. What she said was, “To this day I have no idea how I’ve survived. It’s just been by the grace of God.”

The second was a woman still in her fifties, whom we’ll call Bunny. She wore a long flowing dress, and bunny slippers. She was toothless, like Terri  –  and like Terri, she was smiling broadly. Her smile was contagious. She was everybody’s friend. She was handing out mint candies, and I took some gladly, knowing my breath must have been awful.

After showing us some faded pictures of her grandkids, Bunny began telling us how she had recently fought in the Ukranian civil war, and was therefore a veteran entitled to benefits. She happily warned us that we should all be arming ourselves, because the Ukraine was secretly poised to take over the world.

She was with an older man, who stood by with his hands in his pockets and a leering grin on his face, watching her with obvious amusement the way one might watch a new puppy.

Turned out it was a fell-into-his-lap situation.