Vedran Kohut was a kindness personified who was not defined by his homelessness

Homeless and struggling with schizophrenia, the late Vedran Kohut was nonetheless kindness personified, an adventurer, and immediately likeable, writes Alan Jacques.

On the way home from work in a torrential downpour on Wednesday of last week, I heard a radio report that gardaí in Blanchardstown were investigating a traffic collision on the M50 in which a “male was killed”.

At the time, I was driving in terrible weather so I didn’t give the news much thought other than to briefly think how awful it was that another life had been lost on our roads.

According to the newsreader, the collision, which involved a lorry and a pedestrian, occurred at around 2.10pm.

“No one else was injured in the collision,” a matter-of-fact voice informed listeners, me included. “The man’s body has been removed to Blanchardstown Hospital and Lane 3 has been opened, with the other two lanes closed to facilitate a forensic collision examination.”

News of the poor man’s passing quickly faded from my mind.

But that changed the next morning when I got an email saying the accident victim was a homeless man I had interviewed recently.

My heart sank and I hoped against hope that it wasn’t him, but it was.

Vedran Kohut was a 37-year-old Croatian, who I had known for only seven months but liked from the moment I met him. You could not help but like him. A tall, handsome man, there was a softness and warmth about him that made it impossible for him not to win a place in your heart.

Every time I met him, whether on a street corner or when he came by the office of the Limerick Post where I worked, the greeting was always the same.

“How are you my friend?” he would always ask. It felt like he was welcoming you into his home. In fact, he was.

He was a free spirit; he considered the whole world his home, and every last person in it his family. He had a massive heart and, for a man who had few material possessions, he had love enough inside him for everyone.

Like the rest of us, Vedran was not without his complexities, but despite the chaotic life he lived, on some level he wanted better for himself.

He was an adventurer, a dreamer, a gentleman, an animal lover, a people person, and a survivor. He was also passionate, impractical, sincere, friendly, confident, resilient, determined, intelligent, brave, manic, compassionate, and homeless.

Homeless was what Vedran was. It wasn’t who he was. It didn’t define him as a human being; there was so much more to him.

One of the last times I met him, he came to the Limerick Post office with a copy of his CV in case I heard of any work going. He dreamed of having a home and car and one day setting up his own business in Limerick. He was constantly looking for work.

He had dreams, hopes, and aspirations just like anyone else.

The man I thought of as a friend also lived with schizophrenia. I feared that this, combined with his naivety, gentle nature, and resolute belief in the goodness of others might put him in harm’s way — especially when he was off his medication.

Even though I had only known Vedran a short time, I would find myself worrying about him if I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, always hoping he was okay. I would always feel a great sense of relief when he would turn up out of the blue, like Don Quixote back from another turbulent adventure.

Before he came knocking on the Limerick Post’sdoor at the end of March looking to speak with a reporter, he and his beloved dog, Evelyn, had visited 29 cities across Europe since setting out on their journey in 2013.

The pair travelled everywhere together — Slovakia, Poland, Czech Republic, Slovenia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, and France.

He cared so much for his four-legged sidekick. He was absolutely devoted to her and it was beautiful to see.

“She is everything to me,” he would say, smiling fondly at his faithfull companion.

On his journey Vedran made new friends, fell in love, had his heart broken, worked when he could find it, volunteered at homeless shelters, made more friends, partied, learned languages, studied, and took refuge in people’s homes, in roadsides, under bridges, and the night sky.

He arrived in Ireland in November 2005. Up until May 2012, he managed to hold down jobs, full-time and part-time, in Dublin pubs and restaurants as a waiter and barman. He then returned home to Croatia for a few months, where he volunteered at a homeless shelter in Zagreb before setting off on his great European walkabout.

He always dreamed of building a life for himself in Ireland, as he felt a special affinity with what he regarded as the outgoing and welcoming nature of the Irish people.

“We’re a perfect fit,” he would laugh.

He returned to Ireland in January of this year, but sadly, it was chaos and upheaval from the off, with his passport, laptop, and other personal belongings stolen while travelling by train to Galway.

He had hoped to find full-time work but was unsuccessful. Of course, he arrived like he did everywhere else, just hoping for the best, and sure things would somehow just work themselves out. There was never a plan.

He didn’t do practical. He jumped in with both feet. There was no problem too big for him, and he seemed oblivious most of the time to the gravity of his situation.

The second time I met this beautiful, but deeply troubled, soul was along the banks of the River Shannon, where he was living in a makeshift camp. Wet clothes hung from tree branches and food and books lay soiled on the muddy ground.

I was horrified, yet Vedran appeared unfazed.

“Don’t worry about me, everything I need is all around me,” he said. “If you ever need a blanket or some food come down here and take what you need. This is for everyone.”

I will never forget, as long as I live, what he shout to me across the Friday traffic as I left him that afternoon, deeply concerned for his wellbeing.

“Mind yourself, my friend.”

He cared so much for others that he seemed incapable of putting himself in the picture. His first and only thought was for other people.

I tried to get him some help to try and get him out of this dire situation, but sadly, he couldn’t be helped because he didn’t see a problem.

Others, including Novas Initiatives and Limerick Council’s Homeless Action Team, also did their best to help but I always suspected there was unwillingness on his part to engage. Verdan wanted better; at the same time he didn’t want to, or was unable to, break the chaotic cycle to accept real change.

The last time I saw Vedran was about three weeks ago when he told me he was leaving Evelyn with friends in Limerick who were going to take care of her for a while.

I watched him walk up O’Connell St and wondered when I would see him again and prayed he would be safe and well.

He looked more gaunt than usual and I just wanted to throw my arms around him and give him a hug.

I’m sorry now that I didn’t.

Vedran Kohut, gentleman, free spirit, troubled soul, kindness personified, was cremated yesterday.