Reflections on a Homeless Woman in Suburban Florida

I saw her, again. There is a woman who lives in my neighborhood. She is in her forties, has long red hair, and pushes a black baby carriage. She dresses in black as well, and from a distance, looks like any other young stylish mother taking an evening stroll, but she is different from all the rest.

Inside her baby carriage there is no baby, no life changing bundle of joy, only bundles of clothes, and personal belongings. This woman is homeless. I have seen her around town, at the library, but mostly at the dog park numerous times, pushing the creaky old baby carriage, or sitting quietly on a park swing, staring at herself in an old compact mirror, like she doesn't recognize who she is anymore. I have seen first-hand the desperation on her face, up close.

I can only assume she is mentally ill, because most people would have some sense to take any kind of job, if they can get one. Some people are into drugs and alcohol, but the mentally ill have a hard time with reality in general, so a set schedule for them is hard, to say the least.

Why is it that we live in the richest country in the world, and there are homeless woman like this? I used to wonder, before everything that has happened these past eight years, now I am no longer surprised. Thank goodness there are charities; even some churches that help the homeless, for the government certainly regards the mentally ill as second-class citizens, just look at all the programs being cut in funding, or even eliminated.

Many families throw their mentally ill away. They can't handle the children or adult child, or don't care to deal with the "burden" of having an ill child. Those that keep their sick children home with them are regarded as saints by people. They depend on programs to give their children some kind of structure. Without this structure, there is no balance. Without balance, it is even easier to fall through the cracks of a flawed system.

In my area, there are shelters and some great efforts being made by local officials. People in general are afraid to approach the homeless, but if there were more proper shelters, money for work programs and better paid advocates, that are trained to approach people and guide them to the shelters, maybe the mentally ill homeless would have a chance.

As a writer and a person with feelings, I somehow think I can make a difference by reporting what I see, and what I know. Many people are too involved with their own worries. I write these words to try to report what harsh realities we choose to ignore. While I'm up late writing this, and she's out there walking the streets, huddled up to some cold stone wall out there, trying to stay safe, who's going to be her shining star, the savior to help her and countless others? Probably no one.