Greg

It was one of those cold, wet March evenings. We were out with George and Linda on one of our first outings. We had seen a number of the homeless that night. We were parked in front of Union Station when Greg came up to George. Greg was about 24 years old, the age of our son. He had grown a beard over the winter.  Still, he looked so young.

His eyes were red and swollen. He cried as he spoke to George.

“I just want to get some sleep. Every time I lay down someone comes by and tells me to move along.”

George looked at him as if he were his own son. He put his arm around his shoulders and spoke softly to him.

“You just need to find some place out of the way Greg.”

We gave him a cup of hot soup and a blanket. George continued to talk to Greg. His voice was soothing and reassuring. Greg’s tears stopped flowing. He was able smile just a little. Greg walked away, looking for another place to sleep.

Karen’s heart was aching.

“Where is this boy’s mother? Does she know where he is?”