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The
Homeless Angel
It
was cold and I had a touch of the miseries.
I hate the cold. It frightens me with its intensity and its control of my
physical being. And
some colds are worse than others.
Melbourne has a terrible cold.
It chills you right to the bones.
The cold of London is similar.
We were in London.
Our
small nuclear family was living in a basement flat.
Everyone thought we were very lucky to have walked
into a flat that needed “sitting”.
I thought we were lucky too.
Except seeing nothing but people’s feet and dirty
pavement is less than inspiring ...
and it was dark … and cold.
I
had taken to feeling good and sorry for myself.
Our reason for being in London was not going well.
Our money was running out.
There were personal problems.
And it was cold.
This
day we were walking through the cold streets of London
towards a warm restaurant and a hot meal.
It felt like an inadequate treat to compensate for
black snow and grey frozen air, and loneliness.
We
hadn’t made a single friend since we’d arrived in this
frozen land. Cold
weather seems to separate people from their inner warmth,
making them markedly colder in their emotional responses.
I’d first noticed this reaction when living in
Melbourne. It
had been lonely there too.
But
Fate was about to give me a reminder.
I may have a right to feel lonely, but I had no
right to be miserable.
I was a blessed lady.
I was about to meet an angel.
She
was sitting on the steps of a closed theatre.
I instantly understood her reasoning.
There was relative privacy within the empty space
between footpath and front doors.
No one disturbed her small home of bags and papers.
She was invisible to everyone. Except me.
My
husband and child stopped a few feet in front of me.
I went to them and explained my mission.
I could not let a fellow human being - who was
closer to my mother’s age than my own - sit isolated and
lonely in the cold of London without doing something about
it.
Predicably,
my husband thought I was silly for intruding on another
person’s life but I was predictable too. I would do what I had to do regardless of his opinion.
He stood with our son at a distance while I walked
back to the "bag" lady lounging on the theatre steps.
She
looked at me as soon as I invaded the sanctuary of her
private space. I
apologised for my intrusion and asked if there was anyway
I could help her. She
laughed!
She
patted the step beside her and asked me to join her for a
moment. I
knew my husband would not approve but I wanted to
share time with this stranger.
I already liked her.
And I really did want to help her if I could.
I sat down on the grubby tiles, once again cursing
the cold of London.
She
pulled a can of baked beans and half a loaf of bread from
her nearest bag and offered to share her meal with me.
It was a simple and genuine offer that shook me to
the roots of my being.
I
had grown up in the land of milk and honey.
Regardless of personal problems, the children of
Australia are guaranteed blue skies and bright sun and the
best beaches in the world. … Except in Melbourne.
I
was dripping with pity for this poor English woman,
homeless in the cruel cold of London, and she was offering
me a meal like any hostess in any comfortable, and warm,
home.
I
thanked her for her kindness and then explained I should
be offering her a meal.
I would take her to the warmth of a restaurant and
give her something substantial to eat.
My husband would not approve, but he would cope.
He might even end up enjoying the experience.
The
homeless woman laughed again. Then she opened her baked beans and poured a small puddle
onto a slice of bread.
She took a bite without making a mess and
delicately wiped her lips with a hankie that came straight
to hand. She
chewed on her food, and my pity, for a moment and then
pulled a paper plate from her food bag.
Her sandwich went to the plate, and she turned her
full attention on me.
“I
am the luckiest woman in the entire island.
Please don’t waste your sadness on me.
I don’t want it. And I don’t need it. I
do what I do from my own choice.
I am more free now than I have ever been.
I am happier now than I have ever been.
My life is my own, and I love every minute of
it.”
I
must have looked as confused as I felt.
She took my hand and continued to explain, “I was
a Matron in a hospital in the north of England, long, long
ago. At least
a couple of years ago.
I was married. I did everything right.
I was a good little woman.
And I hated myself.
I was miserable.
I hurt with doing the right things, for all the
wrong reasons.
“Then
it finally struck me.
I was going to die one day, some day, and I would
never have lived. I
couldn’t bear the thought.
I knew I had to do something.
So I did!
“I
walked away from everything I had been told was important
to me. I
packed these few bags and I took to the road.
I’ve slept in much wilder and more worrisome
places than this. I’m
thoroughly enjoying myself.
“You
see, I feel free all the time, dear.
I don’t have to answer to anyone.
I do what I want when I want.
I spend long endless hours alone with the nature of
this beautiful country and I feel blessed with every
moment. I’m
healthier than I’ve ever been.
I meet occasional charming people like yourself who
have got nothing but kindness to share. And all the other people who I want to avoid are pretending
that I don’t exist.
It’s a perfect arrangement.”
“Trust
me, dear. I
was very unhappy. I
am now very happy.”
I
nodded and smiled. I
believed her. She
exuded a strength and peace which I aspired to.
I could feel her quiet joy.
But I still had to ask, “What about the cold?
How do you cope with the cold?”
Again
she laughed. “I’m
used to the feel of the cold.
Cold halls and cold rooms.
But everyday that I’m in the open makes me feel
warmer. I
just don’t feel it the same way anymore.
It’s like doing what I want to do is changing my
inner thermostat and I adjust quickly to the temperature
around me. It’s
rather interesting.
“So
don’t worry dear. I’m
not cold. You
look much colder than me.
Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Her
kindness and awareness almost made me cry.
But my husband would not approve.
I would be making a scene.
I held myself to myself and felt a little colder.
I
disavowed any problem, and felt the impatience of my
husband and son. Once
more I asked for someway to help her.
Would she accept money?
She
laughed and laughed and held me close for a moment.
Then amidst smiles, she said, “I don’t need
money, dear. I’m
rich with every minute of my life.
Now, don’t you worry, dear.
You’re a sweet young thing.
You go look after yourself instead.”
I
hesitated. I
would have liked to stay with her.
But she had made her decision.
She shooed me off.
“Go on.
Off with you.
Thank you for sharing time with me dear.
It’s been very pleasant.
But I’d like to eat in private, if you don’t
mind.”
Of
course I didn’t mind.
I apologised for intruding.
She waved my apology away and gave me a kiss on the
cheek. I
stood and walked away.
I turned once but she had returned to an inner
sanctuary and was content within her meal.
I
imagined living wild and free and unconstricted.
It was a good feeling.
Then I imagined eating baked beans from a can,
watching strangers walk by.
I imagined not knowing where I would sleep that
night. It was not a good feeling.
I know me. I
would be cold. And
I hate the cold.
I
returned to my husband and child, and being a good little
woman. I had
met a homeless angel.
She had given me a gift of openness and kindness
and helped me to recognise my own restrictions.
But I was an angel too, heavily shrouded in
marriage and motherhood.
My
husband was big and strong and grumpy and loved me more
than he knew. My
little boy was three years old and wore my heart for
protection and play. I was heavily chained to my loves and my life.
But
heaven is found in a cage as well as on the road.
My husband and my child were angels as well.
And we had each other to call home.
And to keep each other warm.
I do so
hate the cold.
Portrait of an Old Woman
Rembrandt van Rijn
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