"A Place Called Home." Creatively Written. Author: Mary K.

 As I entered the 150 square feet studio apartment, I said, "Thank you Lord for a place to call home."  Life had been hard for this 65 year old woman the last five years.  I had lived on the streets and slept on the pavement.  I was married for 20 years  before my husband died in a house fire.  After his death, my life changed  drastically.   

All during the marriage my husband was the provider and the bill payer. I had no knowledge of how we stood fiancially. I was given a two hundred a month allowance to use as I pleased. He was never abusive toward me therefore, I thought I was being treated well and I did not question things.  

One Saturday, I came home from visiting friend and discovered my house on fire.  My husband had fell asleep while smoking a cigarette. The cigarettee ashes fell on the sofa and started the fire. He got caught up in it and did not wake up.  My life turned upside down in an instant.  

 The fire spreaded rapidly.  Nothing was salvaged.  I have no immediate family.  My husband was an only child and I was his  closest relative.  One of my neighbors took me in for two weeks.  They said that they had family coming in for a family reunion and I would have to leave. 

Due to me not having any knowledge of our personal fiances and bills, I was at a loss.  I did not know where to start.  I held a small memorial in a local church. After the memorial, my new life begun.  I was all alone with no safe haven.  My material things had perished so therefore, I looked to other avenues to enhance my life. I later discovered that we had no home owner's insurance.   After leaving the neighbor's house, I spent a couple of nights at a degraded women shelter.   I left the shelter and begun a life on the streets.  

Around the first week on the streets, I met a lady about my age. She had been down on her luck for about two years at that time.  She shared with me her story.  Her male companion of twenty years became abusive and she left the situation. She had one grown daughter who lived in England. She and the daughter had not spoken for fifteen years. We became like a street version of Thelma and Louise.  I will refer to her as Shelia. Shelia showed me the street ropes. 

As a somewhat sheltered woman,I had to learn the ABC's of the game. Shelia told me to Always be Aware of  my surroundings. I learned to Be the Best I could be with very limited necessities. She taught me how to be Cautious and Curious.  I was introduced to food pantries and free meals.  I was intoduced to the habit of taking all my my mere gathered belongings in a grocery cart.  As far as taking a bath was concerned, I used wipes and water bottles to clean myself. Periodically, I would go to fast food places and wash up in the bathroom.  

Shelia and I spent our days lobbying in libraries, on distant street alleys or in a local park.  Our night residence was wherenever we laid our belongings. We tried to be descreet as possible with our sleeping arrangements but we often was found out and asked to leave the area.  I remember one instance, where my blanket was pulled out from around me in an effort for me to leave the area.  It was an unsafe way of life but it was life for us.  

This new found life style was very unsettling for a sixtyish  woman.  After ten weeks on the streets,  I became ill and had to be hospitalized for pneumonia. The hospital stay proved to be a life line in more than one way.  The hospital social worker stepped in and came to my rescue.  TBC.