A victim of our uncaring society

THERE is a first time for everything, and that is exactly what happened to me in recent days. These sort of firsts are normally happy childhood events that will stay tucked away in the far recesses of your memory until such time as they are recalled for some reason or another.

My encounter was not a happy one, but it is one that I will remember. It was meeting a victim of the recession in what could be one of the lowest points in their lives.

I knocked on the door of a house while in the process of delivering mail of an educational substance. The door was opened by a middle-aged lady who had a look of desperation in tear-filled eyes. I was taken aback for a second before I asked her what was wrong, she could hardly speak so she handed me what she was holding in her hand. It was a letter from the bank threatening repossession of her home.