Yesterday, I visited the cemetery to see my daughter who passed away as a baby. As I was leaving, I noticed a man, He was talking to himself, carrying a sleeping bag, and it was evident that he was unwell and had nowhere else to go. The day was hot, and I watched him take a drink from the cemetery tap in the rear view mirror Driving home, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Halfway there, I turned the car around and went to a food shop to get him some fish and chips along with two drinks. When I returned to the cemetery, he was still there. I gave him the food, and he asked me if I was his Aunt Stella. I tried to ask how he was doing, but he was often off-topic, clearly struggling with his health. Yet, he was polite and gentle Not gonna lie, I did cry How did we get here? How did we return to a time reminiscent of the Victorian era, where vulnerable people are left like this, In all the political posturing and noise, where is the care and support for the most vulnerable? As I left him, I realized I never asked his name. I wondered how long it had been since someone called him by his name, a basic form of recognition, acknowledging his humanity 📹the sleeping bag on a bench in the rear view mirror