By Jordan McClements

I think of Craig Richards, and I see my recurring nightmare every time the sun goes down.

Do I have a secure place to stay tonight?

Where do I go or what do I do if I don’t have anywhere to go?

How long until it gets too cold?

When will I run out of cigarettes and gas?

Where will I sleep?

Will I ever be safe, or feel safe again?

I see the man looking for shelter in the woods by my old school. The Native woman living in her car because she doesn’t make enough money on disability.

Guess what?

America the beautiful. We do not see the beauty and love in one another and ourselves. I see that homeless mother in the wheelchair and her son panhandling, and the Native woman living out of her car because that was Mom’s plan before she got hospitalized.

When Mom got hospitalized, I was homeless for the night. I see the woman in the wheelchair and the Native woman living in her car because that is what it means to survive in America, and Mom would have done anything to survive in this America. Reader, you don’t have what it takes to panhandle to help you and your mom make it to the motel before the sun goes down today.

Not me, I’m honest, you’re thinking, right, reader?

You’re not honest.

You don’t want to help the homeless and the addicted. Craig Richards’ death signifies the erasure of Americans by yes you, conservatives, and yes you, liberals; both political parties are out of touch with working class life, addiction and homelessness to hold anyone within or outside themselves to care beyond their vogue apathy.

You wouldn’t be in plan with your politicians enacting your plan to erase us from American existence, one silent bill, and horrified, warm, safe, driver at a time, passing what can happen to them in our America, our neighborhood, our city, our towns, and our homes, being addicted and homeless, screaming to the sky, begging for change.

I see the woman in the wheelchair and the larger man walking on pressed feet, in the cold, to make it into the hotel, again, before sunset, because the temperature is dropping, because the shelters are overpopulated, and they won’t make it in time before it’s too late to secure a bed. Here comes the rain. His baseball cap folding as the sign that says.

Taking Care of Me and Mom. God Bless U.S.A..

You know these people are not just panhandling for drug money.

And if they are, so what?

America, let’s be real, when have you ever cared about drugs or drug use besides the War on Drugs you, America, profit from?

It’s not like you’re trying to get addicts off drugs or get addicts and homeless into services, we pass the son in the baseball cap and the mom in the wheelchair every morning, afternoon and in the dim fade of sundown and its freezing whispers of death. Craig Richards froze to death, and his shoes were stolen from him after he died, because someone needed shoes last winter like they will this winter, America.

Craig Richards froze to death by the Duncan Center in December of 2024. Craig Richards was trying to get the services you, reader, deny others by not having wrap around services in each state and throughout our country, America. Say his name. Craig Richards. We lost a person from our community, our neighborhood, America. We lost Brother Craig as he was referred to by loved ones at the homeless memorial.

You might be thinking.

Why do I care about Craig Richards?

Because if I wasn’t lucky, I’d be dead too.

Jordan McClements is a writer from Dover, He was a 2024-2025 Edward E. Lindsay Scholar at the Medill School of Journalism, Northwestern University.