A Christmas Homeless
This story was displayed at the UK’s iconic UNESCO Site, Canterbury Cathedral, during the Christmas season.
It was Christmas Eve, and the lights of Christmas trees were shining brightly. As always, the rich were celebrating and happy, while the poor had nothing to celebrate and were sad. It’s easy to ignore the less privileged when we are privileged but caring people care, regardless of their social status. I was not always the caring one but this year I was. In November, when I saw a documentary showing the difficulties of being homeless, I decided to dedicate the upcoming Christmas to the homeless of my city. So here I was, on the roads, looking for the homeless and giving them gifts and saying Merry Christmas to each one. When I was done with gifts giving, and my hands were empty, I decided to return home.
The moment I began going on my way home, my eyes noticed you and I felt great sorrow for forgetting to give you a gift because I had been seeing you at this place for the last ten years. But the way I saw you that night, was different, my heart felt an unexplainable kind of connection. I saw you that night, sleeping on the ground. You were on the footpath, which is the place to walk, but you were sleeping there. Your eyes were dark, deeper than the sea, containing millions of sorrows. Your broken dreams. Suddenly a car came with big bright lights. As soon as the light reached your face, your eyes got opened. The car moved ahead and then again you closed your eyes. I kept standing there to watch you. Then a little girl came and woke you up to give you a box of food. You looked at her as if she was your guardian angel. You ate the food with tears in your eyes. At that moment, you looked at the stars. It seemed that you were communicating with them. Maybe you wondered if they exist not just in the sky, but also where you are, and they appear just like that girl.
After eating your food, you stood up and took two steps. You were going somewhere; I didn’t know where, but because of dizziness you couldn’t manage yourself and fell on the ground. At that moment, I ran towards you. I realized that just watching you was not enough. It was time to do something. So I picked you up and took you to the hospital in my car. You got a drip of energy dose because your body was so empty. I kept standing there to watch you near your bed.
While you rested, I approached the social worker on duty and told him about you. I asked him to help me in finding out details about your identity. Thankfully, he agreed to my request. Then we started looking for your history. We searched for records from shelters and hospitals and for any clues about your name. Within a few hours, things became clear about you. With that clarity, the connection my heart had been searching for finally found an answer.
When you woke up, it took you a few moments to regain your senses. Then you looked at me and asked, “Why did you save me, what the hell am I? broken soul with a dead heart, dying every day to live, what am I? A Christmas homeless?”
“You are something worthy by the way,” said I. Then what I saw were tears coming from your eyes, falling on your cheeks. I stepped ahead, took your hand in mine, and said, “I will take you home. You will no longer remain a Christmas homeless, Mom. You are with your daughter now.”
“Emily?” you asked.
“Yes, mom. Emily. Your Emily.” I told you with a broken heart.
“My Emily,” you shouted.
I hugged you. We had tears of joy and sorrow. The sorrow of meeting after a long time, and the joy of meeting before any of us die.
