encountered a destitute man at Waffle House in Waveland recently and treated him to breakfast. When he questioned why I didn’t just give him money and leave, I pondered for a moment before replying that I didn’t know why. His story unveiled the fragile nature of our mental states.

In his younger years, he worked, got married, raised a daughter, and life appeared stable. One day, he reached his breaking point at work, and in a moment of impulsivity, he left everything behind. Disagreements with his wife escalated, leading him to walk out of his house with only the clothes on his back. He survived for a while using credit cards until they were cut off. With three hundred dollars, he sustained himself for a couple of months, but eventually, he had nothing left.

After about a year, he returned to his town, penniless and hungry. He watched his wife and daughter from a distance, noticing their happiness. Feeling defeated, he resumed his aimless journey with no destination and no purpose.

I had anticipated him being involved with drugs or alcohol, but he denied both. It became apparent that he had simply given up on life and no longer cared. I believe many of us, at times, wrestle with the question “why.”

In the grand scheme, all humans pass away, leaving behind their deeds, good and bad, which fade into history soon after death. The man I shared breakfast with seemed frail and ailing. When he departs, he will be mourned slightly less than myself and others, serving as a poignant reminder that no one, no matter how powerful, can withstand the relentless march of time.