I recently read an article about a woman named Joyce Carol Vincent who was found alone in her apartment— three years after passing away. It got me thinking about how fleeting life is, but also how we can be surrounded by people, cameras and social media, yet every day whole people can still disappear.
I also thought how lonely Vincent must have been that no one cared enough about her to check on her. For three years.
Joyce Carol Vincent was 38 years old in December 2003.
It was cold and her arms were laden with bags from Christmas shopping when she arrived home in Wood Green at her North London apartment. She settled in for the night, cozy with the heat on and the TV playing, Vincent began the arduous holiday task of gift wrapping.
At some point, Vincent suffered a medical emergency, possibly an asthma attack or complications from a peptic ulcer she had received previous treatment for and she sadly passed away.
Vincent died alone, in her apartment with the heat running, her TV blaring and surrounded by the gifts she’d bought for people who never noticed when she was gone.
Joyce Carol Vincent remained frozen in time while the hustle and bustle of busy city life roared around her for the next three years.
Not until January 2006 did anyone come looking and even then, it would be two officers with the housing association who ultimately forced their way into her apartment.
Once inside, they found the remnants of Vincent’s life and last moments scattered about: brittle wrapping paper, its Christmas cheer now yellowed with age, the heat still running and the TV set flickering because Vincent’s direct draft never stopped paying her bills.
Vincent was discovered sitting on her couch—dental records were needed to confirm her identity—yet she had been a beautiful woman living and working in a major city.
How?
Vincent was born on October 19, 1965, in Hammersmith, London.
In what must have been a highlight of her life, at 24 Vincent attended and was recorded backstage at the Nelson Mandela: An International Tribute for a Free South Africa concert in April 1990. Legend has it that Vincent met Mandella backstage and shook his hand.
At the time of her death, her parents had already passed, and relationships with her four sisters had frayed to the point that they did not miss her. Her employer assumed she simply quit without notice. Vincent had friends but she had also recently escaped an abusive relationship and was known to move frequently as a result. Many assumed she moved away and lost touch. Due to being a domestic abuse survivor, Vincent had also begun downsizing her friend list.
The apartment she lived in was owned by the Metropolitan Housing Trust and was designed to offer haven to victims of abuse.
So, no one checked. For three years. What does Vincent’s story say about our society?
To find out more about Vincent, a documentary titled Dreams of a Life was made in 2001 and inspired musician Steven Wilson’s album Hand. Cannot. Erase.