They are uncounted pockets of missing persons in wait for the unlikely chance of being found. A generation of lost, lonely and mostly forgotten, abandoned by family, underserved and unacknowledged by society, making do with less than any man should. Few with the mobility to seek available help and all living their golden years dressed in aluminum foil. While they dream of somewhere else, they’ve no place better to be. They eat what they can on $16 a month, pay their rent on time often at the sacrifice of air conditioning wearing the same broken glasses they bought in the 1980s when times were different. With few friends if any to talk with about their struggle, they are unable to muster a lasting live audience.
They’ve neither owned nor operated a computer, plow their walkers along highways in the heat of the day hoping to return home, and if so, with a couple bags from the food bank to quench their hunger and avoid a payday loan for a bag of food at 600% interest they will pay on for the entirety of their remaining days.
Each day they fall further into the pit. They are medically unstable, unemployable, and prized marks for thieves, criminals, schemes and scam artists. They’ve few if any assets, raises in income, and no awareness that this kind of life is not normal.
Yet despite it all, they are among the kindest most generous generation of friends anyone could ever have and my very best reasons for waking up each morning.
They want no pity, seek no justice and pray relentlessly for the best for others. They are almost buried treasures hoping still to be found and cherished for their enduring and colorful life stories and the touch of someone’s hand who will listen through desperate hope that they themselves will never end up this way.