HO, HO, HOmeless… A Sobering View of the Crisis Affecting Us All

The Real Story Behind the Crisis

We Still Don’t Want to Understand.

A 46 year-old single mother lies awake as night threatens to turn to morning. She wonders how she’ll make it through even one more day. She can’t cry… anymore. Can’t look into the eyes of her two young children, age 7 & 9. For a fleeting moment she wonders if her sister, 3,000 miles away, should take the kids, for a while anyway. She pushes that thought from her mind, reaches for her prescription on the nightstand, swallows two without water, and rolls onto her side. She’s a Registered Nurse; she knows sleep will soon come.

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A father of three stands in the shadows made by the tree in the front yard of his home of 14 years. It’s 2:30 AM. He’s wearing a tee shirt and boxer shorts. The wind is audible and cold. His eyes fixate on the flower box he built his first year as a homeowner. His stare moves to the driveway… his driveway… and remembers pitching underhand to his youngest son. He had thought they would live in this house forever. He absent-mindedly scratches his chest with the barrel of the .38 Smith & Wesson Super he’s holding in his hand. He wonders if insurance policies pay off after suicide.

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An older couple, returning from a trip to the grocery store, pulls into their driveway. They’ve been married for 38 years; bought the house in ‘72. He opens the back door of the sedan and reaches in for the bags. She admonishes him not to do so. The doctor said not to lift anything heavy… might tear his stitches. They walk inside together, close the door; neither speaks. There is paperwork taped to the front door. It says they’ll have to be moving soon.

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A young child listens to her father talking on the phone as he makes her breakfast. His voice doesn’t sound normal to her ear. He sounds nervous… he’s being very polite. Like when he’s talking to the men at church. He hangs up and even though she didn’t ask, he tells her everything is fine. But the child doesn’t think so. She looks at him. Thinks he’s crying. She wants to help. He wipes his eyes. He says cutting an onion made them water.

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A mother is on the phone first thing one morning. She reads my column on-line. She calls to tell me that her son, 41 years old, hung himself in the basement of his home last night. She found him yesterday morning. He had been laid off and out of work for nine months. He tried to convince his bank to modify his mortgage since then. Went through his savings. Started spending hers. Her voice shakes. “Now,â€