A small thought about nameless bag ladies.

[kalanamak]

I've met my share, and today, saying goodbye to one, I realized that for persons who is so paranoid they won't tell you their name, won't accept your food or clothes, they are really depending on the benignity of people a lot more than those of us who move about in cars, park in well-lit areas, live in locked houses, and eat fresh food that has been refrigerated appropriately.

[LibraryLover]

How very sad. They probably have no reason to trust anyone at all...and even if someone offering food is to be trusted, how would some truly know or understand? I've worked at various food banks/programs....there is so much illness. It's tragic.

[texasmama]

:grouphug:

[Ibbygirl]

That's so sad. I can't imagine how incredibly lonely she must have been. :crying:

[unsinkable]

I've met my share, and today, saying goodbye to one, I realized that for persons who is so paranoid they won't tell you their name, won't accept your food or clothes, they are really depending on the benignity of people a lot more than those of us who move about in cars, park in well-lit areas, live in locked houses, and eat fresh food that has been refrigerated appropriately.

 

:grouphug:

 

It's stories like this that i think of when someone says, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

 

I disagree.

 

I think, "What doesn't kill some people hurts them so badly they live in a carboard box under a bridge."

 

:(

[Hedgehog]

:grouphug:

 

It's stories like this that i think of when someone says, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

 

I disagree.

 

I think, "What doesn't kill some people hurts them so badly they live in a carboard box under a bridge."

 

:(

 

:iagree:

 

I remember as a student in London, seeing so many - too many - homeless people, men and women, who literally did live in a cardboard box under a bridge. Waterloo Bridge, if I remember correctly. It is tragic. Some will accept help, others won't. And the same thing in Moscow - gypsies, mainly, almost nekkid and begging near Gorky Park. The memory that still makes me well up is the one of a young woman - possibly a teenager still - with a baby. I gave her a bit of money - I didn't have much on me - and her gratitude was almost embarrassing. And I couldn't even understand what she was saying. :crying:

[Beth in OH]

I'm currently reading the book, The Memory Palace, a memoir by Mira Bartok. It is a poignant look at the ravages of mental illness on both the patient and his/her family. Here's a description:

 

Bartók’s mother, Norma Herr, was a pianist who suffered from schizophrenia and was homeless for much of her life. When Bartók was a child, her unpredictable mother tried to jump out of a second-floor window. After enduring years of painful uncertainty, Bartók and her sister made the difficult decision to cut off all ties to their mother, with only a post office address as a tenuous connection. They changed their names, too, and had unpublished telephone numbers and addresses. Only after Bartók suffered a debilitating brain injury in an automobile accident and discovered her mother’s stored artifacts were she and her mother able to re-connect.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Memory-Palace-Mira-Bartok/dp/1439183317/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1299249439&sr=8-1