The Fight Goes On
Homelessness was not her choice.
Or her destiny.
She loved deeply.
And was loved more than she ever knew.
Her future shattered by mental illness and poverty.
Or maybe a family that let her down.
She coped with alcohol and tears.
And found comfort in what little she controlled.
Her opportunities faded.
Or her struggle got too big.
She had no job.
And no place to go.
Her home became a storage locker. The church. The Emergency Room.
Or wherever she felt safe.
She saw the judging eyes of long lost friends and neighbors.
And tried to hold her head up high.
Her frequent calls were screams for help.
Or tearful tales of setbacks and obstacles.
Housing was her only hope.
And seemed so out of reach.
She found no shelter on that hot July day.
Or maybe no more hope.
Her homelessness ended in hopelessness.
And broke hearts along the way.
We didn’t get to say goodbye
Or share one final hug.
There were no final words.
And no more memories to share.
She didn’t pass in peace.
Or in the comfort of her home.
Her dignity was gone.
And her dreams put to sleep.
Her future died with her that night.
But her fight was passed on.