The True Story of a Homeless Woman Named Edna

A few months after I met Edna, I found myself back in Washington, D.C., walking the streets looking for her.

I had only known her for nine days, but those nine days had been enough for me to wonder about her long after I left. I wanted to know if she was okay. I wanted to know if she had found somewhere safe to sleep. More than anything, I just wanted to see her again.

I first met Edna while I was staying at a hotel in Washington. Not far from where I was staying, there was a woman who slept on the ground in a small tent outside. She was there every day, and after seeing her a few times, I decided to stop and talk to her.

Her name was Edna.

The next morning, I brought her a cup of coffee and a donut. That small gesture became something I did every day I was there. In the evenings, I would bring her a sandwich of some kind. I knew it wasn’t going to change her situation, but I wanted her to know that someone saw her and cared enough to stop.

As the days passed, Edna and I talked more. She was 72 years old, about five feet tall, with grayish white hair and glasses. When she spoke, she sounded like someone’s sweet grandmother. It was hard to believe that someone with that kind of warmth and kindness could find herself sleeping on the street.

She told me about her life before that. She had been married, and she missed her husband deeply. He had been the breadwinner, and after he passed away, everything became harder. She tried different jobs, but she couldn’t make enough money to keep a home. Little by little, the life she knew slipped away.

One thing she told me surprised me. She said she used to love to go to theaters and watch plays. I remember thinking about how many people walked past her every day and had no idea who she was. They saw a woman sitting on the sidewalk, but they didn’t see the woman who had once gone to the theater, the woman who had loved her husband, or the woman who still had memories of a different life.

That was the thing I noticed about Edna. She wasn’t different from me. The only difference was that I had a room to go back to at night. I had a warm bed, a shower, and a place where I belonged. She didn’t.

After I had known her for a few days, I got her a hotel room. I wanted her to have a chance to clean up and sleep in a real bed. I knew one night wasn’t going to fix everything, but I also knew that one night of comfort meant something.

When she came back out the next day, she told me she slept all night. She was so thankful. Something as simple as sleeping in a bed had become something worth being grateful for.

On the day I was leaving Washington, I bought Edna an unlimited subway pass. It was October, and the weather was starting to get colder. I wanted her to have a way to get out of the cold when she needed to.

When I said goodbye, I didn’t know if I would ever see her again.

Then, a few months later, when Donald Trump took office and the National Guard was sent into Washington, D.C., and homeless people were being removed from areas where they had been staying, I thought about Edna. I couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to her. I wondered if she was still sleeping outside. I wondered if she had found somewhere safer. I wondered if someone had helped her.

So, I went back.

For five days, I looked for Edna. I walked the streets and where I had first met her. I looked in the places where I thought she might be. I even spent hours riding the subway. I hoped I would see her sitting there with her grayish white hair and glasses, and that she would look up and recognize me.

But I never found her.

I still think about Edna. I wonder where she is and what happened to her. I wonder if life became a little easier for her or if she continued facing the same struggles she had when I met her.

I think about how we call ourselves the richest country in the world, yet thousands of people sleep on sidewalks and under bridges. I think about how easy it is for people to become invisible when they are struggling.

But Edna was never invisible to me.

She was a woman who loved her husband, who loved going to theaters to watch plays, and who was grateful for a warm room and a night of sleep in a real bed.

Her name was Edna, and I hope wherever she is today, she knows that someone remembers her.

Author’s Note

If you see someone living on the street, I hope you will take a moment to see the person before you see their situation.

You might be surprised by what you learn.

The person sitting there has a story. They have memories, people they have loved, things they miss, and dreams they may still carry with them. A conversation, a smile, or simply learning their name can mean more than we realize.

I met Edna by stopping long enough to say hello. I learned about her life, the person she loved, the things she missed, and the woman she was before circumstances changed everything.

We often walk past people because we don’t know what to say or because we assume there is nothing we can do. But sometimes the most important thing we can give someone is not money or a solution. Sometimes it is the simple gift of being seen.

The next time you pass someone who is homeless, consider stopping for a moment. Ask their name. Listen to their story.

You might be surprised at what you will learn.