It is easy to be lost in place, and he is. Well at least, I console myself, he isn’t lost in Jesus Land. He isn’t wearing a tin-foil hat. He isn’t sitting up all night in some fast food restaurant like McDonald’s trying to avoid the streets, waiting for the time when he can return to the camper after its resident goes to work. He might have been able to rest during the day, to sleep while the voices say, no one loves you, you are worthless. He lives with me now, so he does not have to go hungry.
Our refrigerator is well-stocked. The freezer is filled with Amy’s frozen lasagna, macaroni and cheese with broccoli, enchiladas with beans and rice, and all manner of organic meals. He won’t be stealing sandwiches out of grocery stores. He will not have cops pushing and bullying him for staring at cars. He will not be beaten up by law enforcement for hanging out in airports. Police will not be dislocating his shoulder while pulling him over on a side-walk. It is common for police to treat the homeless and the mentally ill as criminals. When someone is both, it is a double whammy– cruisin’ for a bruisin’.