It Can Happen to Anyone

I love what Homeward Bound proposes to do. I hope to help them do it in whatever capacity I can. That is thanks in large part to my background, which opened me to the necessary grace. Allow me to describe the process.

I had long thought of myself as a respectable, middle-class guy. I had a doctorate in philosophy and, for a time, an academic career. But in September 2001, at 46, my life had collapsed like the Twin Towers on 9/11. I had successfully completed a months-long course of in- and out-patient treatment for major depression and related psychosis. But my second wife, after bearing two children in the previous two years, didn’t want me anymore. I was too dangerous, she said. I had to go to the local homeless shelter. No job, and no money except what sat, inaccessibly, in my old pension plan. All I effectively had was my old jalopy, the divorce papers, and books sitting in storage that my ex-father-in-law bought for three months.Although I had just completed two entry-level IT certifications, I had to do day labor not just to survive until I could find something better, but also to stay out of jail. I had been given six weeks to pay $600 in child support, or else. I lived in my car, showered at the Y, and ate one McDouble and one apple each day. I managed to pay the money and stay out of jail, but only after growing too thin for the clothes on my back, which were worn out in any case by hard use and frequent washing at the laundromat.

I might have recovered quickly, and in some ways did. I got a job as a broadband installer and earned enough to get an apartment. But the divorce was brutal; it lasted as long as the marriage itself had. I was arrested twice on trivial domestic-violence charges that were dismissed at the hearings. For two years I fought for access to our children, which I eventually obtained while representing myself. But I lived in constant fear of the authorities my former spouse had sicced on me. When I lost my job due to a stupid mistake about cabling, I had to return to the shelter and, briefly, to day labor. I soon got another job driving for the airport taxi service, and eventually dispatching, but lost “supervised” visitation with my mentally disabled children at their school. That’s because their mother had pumped the teachers for any information that could be interpreted negatively. Understanding the situation, the judge ordered visitation at my home--such as it was.

But I soon realized that was infeasible. Because I was paying the child support, I could not afford anything bigger than a rented room, and had no access of my own to services that would help me do what was best for the kids when I had them. I knew their mother would make an issue of all that. Her attitude was so hostile that I eventually realized I could not have a relationship with the kids that would benefit them. So in 2008, I returned to my native New York state. Homeless and jobless, of course. My sister took me in temporarily, but in due course I moved to the Rescue Mission in Syracuse for three months to make it easier to find a decent job. Eventually I did. After that my life improved for a time.

In 2013, however, I was laid off from my teaching job at a for-profit institution. After several months on unemployment, I moved to my other sister’s in Western New York. But since she and her husband lived rather far from downtown Buffalo, I moved to St. Luke’s Mission in the heart of the city. There I was both a client and a volunteer. I got free room and board in exchange for helping with the myriad of broken people who came knocking on the door for help. After about 18 months of that, wherein I also worked part-time as a driving instructor, my life began to improve again. In 2016, I moved to Steubenville for the cheap rent, which allowed me to wind up child support while living in a decent apartment. Since then I’ve lived on Social Security and part-time gigs such as online teaching and food delivery. I’m also writing a philosophical book I’ve planned for years

For years, though, I was bitter and angry, not just with my ex but also with God. Two failed marriages within a decade had destroyed my mental health and, with it, my career. My life became essentially that of a vagabond. It was humiliating. Did I really deserve this?

But after much prayer I reached the conviction that such a life brought important spiritual benefits. It meant that I could not be complacent about myself or too attached to this world. It meant that I could do penance for my very real sins. It meant suffering that I could offer for the spiritual welfare of my children.

Most relevantly, it meant that I could identify with people I had once thought of as throwaways and, truth be told, not worth my time. I had endured mental illness, loss of status, homelessness, prison, and consistently lousy food. I could no longer look down on people whose lives are marked by such things. I was one of them.And that makes me want to help them, as I was sometimes helped by kind people I don’t have the space to describe more fully. Homeward Bound offers a pretty unique way to help. It’s meant to plug gaps in care for the homeless, gaps left by institutions that, while worthy, don’t often coordinate well with each other or cover every need. I thank God for the opportunity to help change that, and look forward to taking it concretely.