Hard lessons of life....
I don't know where to begin... as a writer I know the beginning is a good place. When I became homeless I had brought my then four year-old son with me from Texas to California... I had no idea why I made the move; yet I was 32 and still living at home. My pregnancy was(thankfully) an easy one...
I always felt as if my mother was ashamed of me because I had not bothered to marry the father. Well, I couldn't. He told me he was in the middle of getting divorced. Being as young and naieve as I was I fell for it.
What can I say? Love really is blind... I think my son's father is at least nine years older than I am; I'm not sure. What mattered to me was to get as far away from my mother as I possibly could. No, I didn't have a plan; had I had one my life may have turned out differently.
Be that as it may this is not my story. My story, in Colorado, begins in October of '06... It was going to be my first winter. I got off the bus at Broadway and asked where I could find housing. I was directed to Thistle Housing.... They could not help me; but the woman told me about the boulder Shelter for the homeless.
"Well, where's that?" You need to get to North Broadway..." Which way is north, and where was Broadway? After figuring out what direction to go... I made my way to Pearl Street and hung a right at the correct street(I hoped).
I won't bore the reader with too many details... but as often as happens in my life people I now found myself in the company of started coming to me and lamenting their woes...
I must say that as I listened two distinct stories, from diverse people, started to become common-place.... 1) Men had to suffer through the "lottery". Basically a numbered "chip" is drawn and your name is written beside that number... sounds fair enough; yes? Now, women get into the Shelter no matter what.
Let's say a man has been standing outside since five when the gate opens. He receives the number 105... Six-thirty rolls around and this man's name still hasn't been called... Another man comes in on one of the busses... his number is four, and he gets right in... starting to see the unfairness?
2) The second story to emerge was one from people who turn in their medications.... At the Shelter there is a "Supply Window" and those who take meds are to turn them in... I have seen with my own eyes people turning in a full bottle only to get it back the next day, half empty or less.
Now, I don't know what's running through your mind right now, but some of these are older folk on pain killers and heart medicine.
They're homeless; yet most of them are the same age as your mother and father that may or may not be in nursing homes...
A last story I almost didn't mention because it is just too unconsciable....
While I was in the Shelter myself I saw just a small part of this.... Apparently some of the food that would be donated would be picked over by Staff members. I've been told many turkeys, steaks, and other delctables never made it on to the menu...
Friends of mine still there see much of this food, for the Homeless, end up in the garbage right out in back... what do they get fed.... cheap stuff.. Any of you out there have food allergies? Are you gluten intolerant? Are you allergic to eggs or peanuts?
Do yourself a favor and don't eat at the Shelter.... How I managed to survive i'll never know... My stomach was so bloated when I left, I thought I was pregnant... No, I wasn't but you see my point? This Thanks giving if you want to make a Thanksgiving meal for the Shelter, make it once you're there.
Staff doesn't need to help; they should be busy in other endeavors. This has long been a burden for me to write this and to get this off my chest. God bless!!
I always felt as if my mother was ashamed of me because I had not bothered to marry the father. Well, I couldn't. He told me he was in the middle of getting divorced. Being as young and naieve as I was I fell for it.
What can I say? Love really is blind... I think my son's father is at least nine years older than I am; I'm not sure. What mattered to me was to get as far away from my mother as I possibly could. No, I didn't have a plan; had I had one my life may have turned out differently.
Be that as it may this is not my story. My story, in Colorado, begins in October of '06... It was going to be my first winter. I got off the bus at Broadway and asked where I could find housing. I was directed to Thistle Housing.... They could not help me; but the woman told me about the boulder Shelter for the homeless.
"Well, where's that?" You need to get to North Broadway..." Which way is north, and where was Broadway? After figuring out what direction to go... I made my way to Pearl Street and hung a right at the correct street(I hoped).
I won't bore the reader with too many details... but as often as happens in my life people I now found myself in the company of started coming to me and lamenting their woes...
I must say that as I listened two distinct stories, from diverse people, started to become common-place.... 1) Men had to suffer through the "lottery". Basically a numbered "chip" is drawn and your name is written beside that number... sounds fair enough; yes? Now, women get into the Shelter no matter what.
Let's say a man has been standing outside since five when the gate opens. He receives the number 105... Six-thirty rolls around and this man's name still hasn't been called... Another man comes in on one of the busses... his number is four, and he gets right in... starting to see the unfairness?
2) The second story to emerge was one from people who turn in their medications.... At the Shelter there is a "Supply Window" and those who take meds are to turn them in... I have seen with my own eyes people turning in a full bottle only to get it back the next day, half empty or less.
Now, I don't know what's running through your mind right now, but some of these are older folk on pain killers and heart medicine.
They're homeless; yet most of them are the same age as your mother and father that may or may not be in nursing homes...
A last story I almost didn't mention because it is just too unconsciable....
While I was in the Shelter myself I saw just a small part of this.... Apparently some of the food that would be donated would be picked over by Staff members. I've been told many turkeys, steaks, and other delctables never made it on to the menu...
Friends of mine still there see much of this food, for the Homeless, end up in the garbage right out in back... what do they get fed.... cheap stuff.. Any of you out there have food allergies? Are you gluten intolerant? Are you allergic to eggs or peanuts?
Do yourself a favor and don't eat at the Shelter.... How I managed to survive i'll never know... My stomach was so bloated when I left, I thought I was pregnant... No, I wasn't but you see my point? This Thanks giving if you want to make a Thanksgiving meal for the Shelter, make it once you're there.
Staff doesn't need to help; they should be busy in other endeavors. This has long been a burden for me to write this and to get this off my chest. God bless!!
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