On Rescuing Robert

I have an instinct to rescue that borders on the psychotic. Neighbors who know this about me appear at my door with cats. I once harbored 6 in my house until I could find them permanent homes. I’ve taken in problem dogs…..little fallen birds…..even an odd-and-dying ficus that a friend no longer wanted. I once fed a possum for an entire winter, who subsequently refused to leave my yard for a year.

And people. If I had the Brangelina Budget, I would be flying to all four corners of the world at every whim, bringing back orphans. I really would. I have three internationally-adopted children at present, but room in my heart for more. Many more. (If you are Super Hubs and reading this post, please don’t have a panic attack. We clearly don’t have the Brangelina Budget, so relax and go have a beer.)

There is a homeless man in my town that I have been stalking. I believe he needs my help, even though he doesn’t want my help. He has told me so. Several times. But I still try to help him realize his need for my help. It’s crazy.

His name is Robert. I met him in my town’s library one cold and snowy winter, about 4 years ago. He was sitting in the corner by the newspapers, where a couple vagrants tend to congregate in our local library during the frigid weather. I was selecting books for my then-toddler, when I heard Robert coughing. He was a nice-looking man about my age; unkempt and wearing a scruffy coat. As I watched him, I thought about how, when I am sick with a cold, I can go home and take cough medicine, and huddle under a blanket on my comfortable denim blue couch, and have toast and tea. And I wondered if Robert had taken cough medicine….or had eaten dinner the night before….or if he’d even slept in a bed. And before I could stop myself, I went over and asked him his name, and if he was hungry. I had a warm, fuzzy fantasy that I would buy him breakfast at a diner, and, over bacon and eggs, he’d gratefully tell me his story. We’d become fast friends. I’d take him shopping for new clothes, and help him find a job and a place to live. Then eventually, when his life turned around, perhaps he’d get married and have a family, and ask me to be the baby’s godmother..….

”No,” he said without even looking at me. I stood there, uncertain of what to do next. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? I can get you something to eat,” I persisted. “No,” he said, without looking up from his paper. I stood there idiotically for a few awkward moments. And then went back to the bookshelf, confused, because I didn’t believe he wasn’t hungry. Why would he turn down a meal? And then I felt mortified, because maybe I had hurt his dignity with my naive and simple offer. Did I do wrong?

The next time I saw him, it was a few weeks later. I was on a Date Night with my husband, and, as we were walking into a restaurant, I spied Robert sitting on a bench across the street. So, to Super Hubs sheer horror, I shouted a greeting to Robert, and ran over and invited him to join us on our Date Night. To which he refused, and I persisted, and Super Hubs grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the restaurant, and then lectured me over dinner about my bad judgment and codependent behavior and utter disregard for safety and blah blah blah. I barely listened because I was thinking about how I would box up our leftovers and then bring them to Robert after our date. I was a woman on a mission of my own appointment: TO SAVE ROBERT. I begged Super Hubs to drive around town after dinner, while I looked out the window holding the leftovers, searching for Robert and calling his name. I never did find him again that night. He was most likely at the local police station filling out a Restraining Order against the Crazy Blond Stalker Woman who kept trying to feed him. But I heeded Super Hubs advice, and stopped trying to push my unwanted charity. Still, I worried.

I continue to worry about him. Especially when the evil Chicago Winter rears her vicious head. What becomes of Robert then?

I see him every so often around town. I caught a glimpse of him yesterday as I was driving down the highway. He was sitting on a bench alone, wearing his bulky winter coat, even though the temperature hovered around 70. I wondered about him, and about his story. Perhaps he was once a tiny child who sat on his mother’s lap while she read him nursery rhymes. Did he have dreams, like my little boy, of becoming an astronaut or a race car driver? Did he ever grow up to have a good life that he loved? And what went so tragically wrong that he ended up homeless in my Chicago suburb? Was it hard luck; poor choices; adverse circumstances? Perhaps a little of each?

Robert is undoubtedly somebody’s son….or brother….or cousin….. or father. Yet he sits alone, whenever I see him, wearing that grimy coat and a look of hopelessness. And it breaks my heart! I want to help him. No, I want to rescue him….save him. But I cannot. And I hate that I cannot. I hate it to the core of my being.

But what I do know is that Robert is a dearly loved child of God. And somehow, he is surviving. Without my help. So I need to put aside my Mother Teresa Complex and my compulsive deliverance tendencies and just wait for opportunity. Maybe there’ll be another time when I can offer help to Robert, and he’ll accept. Or to someone else. Human suffering impacts me deeply. It brings out my Inner Rescuer. So if I can’t rescue Robert, maybe I need to take myself to the animal shelter and see about another cat….