When my mother died, I was just starting college. I lost the house we lived in (a family moved in, never paid rent, I couldn't pay the mortgage, courts refused to evict family b/c they had kids...), and after my freshman year in the dorms worked nights at an IHOP by Fenway Park cleaning toilets... just to have a warm place to be at night. I finished my last three years of college living on the streets, in the subway stations, South Station rails, or working night jobs while sleeping maybe 2 hours a night. I was a frickin' mess by the time I graduated.
And if you're like us--really, really weird and otherwise undesirable--no one wants to help you. Jobs don't want to (and don't have to) hire you. You can't rely on "friends." So in addition to poverty, you have to do EVERYthing on your own--getting to/from the hospital, moving, taking care of all emergencies--to say nothing of the chronic lack of affection, validation, companionship that the same professionals who tell us NOT to commit suicide publish research paper after paper demonstrating are critical to healthy development AND maintenance. That's no life to have. But our ill-prepared parents thrust this decades-long hell on us. Oh yeah. "It'll all work out," they say. Pffft.
If someone can't take care of him-/herself and doesn't have a stable home, that person shouldn't be reproducing. My god. How frickin' selfish humans are. We're the same species that will go out and get multiple dogs and then chain them up in the baking sun or frigid winter air while we work 12+ hours a day, neglecting the physical and emotional needs of a social animal but then say, "I love my dogs!" BS. Humans are a piece.
