A Letter from the Streets 

 By Alexander Lowe 

shared in partnership with Heaven Sent Community Services & Veterans Assistance 

Dear Friend, 

My name is Alexander Lowe and I want to tell you a story — my story — because it might help you understand just how much your compassion can change a life. 

 When I was only three years old, I was diagnosed with ADHD and bipolar disorder. From that moment on, my life was a storm of appointments, medications, and emotions I couldn’t control. I was the quiet kid in school — the one teachers didn’t know what to do with and classmates didn’t understand. When the anger came, I didn’t hurt people, I hurt objects. It was my way of trying to keep from exploding. 

By fifteen, I was in the juvenile system, thinking there had to be something more to life than bars, isolation, and silence. But then came the moment that shattered my heart forever 

While I was locked away, my mother  my backbone, my heart, my everything — passed away. They let me attend her funeral, but I wasn’t her son that day... I was an inmate. I stood beside her casket in handcuffs and leg shackles, unable to even touch her hand one last time. I couldn’t wipe the tears from my face. I couldn’t kneel down beside her. I could only stare, empty and broken, at the woman who had loved me more than anyone else in the world 

I felt like a part of me died standing there in those chains. I promised her silently that I would live the kind of life she always dreamed I could have — a good, faithful, honorable life. But pain has a way of dragging you backward, and I spent the next twelve years struggling to keep that promise. 

After leaving the system, I found myself with nowhere to go. I lived on the streets, hungry, scared, and alone. I went nights without food, days without hope. I told myself I didn’t need anyone’s help — but the truth was, I was too ashamed to ask. Every time someone tried to hand me food, it felt like failure. 

There were nights, sitting under a cold Florida sky, that I thought about ending everything. ADHD made my thoughts race, made the pain feel endless. But every single time, the image of my mom’s face would stop me. I couldn’t bear the thought of meeting her again in Heaven knowing I had given up. 

Then, one day, sitting outside Hart Memorial Library in Kissimmee, Florida, I asked a man for a cigarette. That man was named Joe, and he would change my life forever. In fifteen minutes, Joe listened to me — not as a stranger, not as a failure, but as a human being. He told me he wanted to help me get clean, find direction, and rebuild. I didn’t know it at first, but Joe was the founder and president of Heaven Sent Community Services and Veterans Assistance, a nonprofit dedicated to helping people like me — the broken, the forgotten, and the ones still fighting. Joe is a veteran himself, and so is his entire team — every one of them except one, a brilliant mechanic and designer whose mind works like an open book. These men and women welcomed me like a brother. They didn’t just offer me help — they offered me family, faith, and something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. 

Now, at 29 years old, I’m taking the next step. I’ve been accepted to join the U.S. Army as a 15T — a Black Hawk helicopter mechanic. I never thought I’d wake up with purpose again, but because of Heaven Sent, I do. I still struggle — depression doesn’t vanish, and some nights, the memories still hurt — but now, I know that my life matters. 

That’s why I’m sharing my story through Heaven Sent Community Services and Veterans Assistance. Because out there tonight, someone just like me is sleeping on the sidewalk, feeling invisible. Someone is crying quietly, remembering a mother they’ll never get to hug again. And someone is praying for a stranger like Joe to show up — to listen, to care, to give them a second chance. 

Heaven-Sent is that second chance. 

When you support Heaven Sent, you’re not just giving food, clothing, or shelter. You’re giving hope. You’re telling people who’ve been kicked down by life that they matter, that their story isn’t over yet. 

So from the depths of my heart — and in memory of the woman who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself — thank you. 

Thank you for standing with Joe, with me, and with everyone still out there waiting to be found. 

Your kindness saves lives. I know, because it saved mine. 

With gratitude and hope, 

Alexander Lowe