I feel so dumb.
I thought I could help.
But I was reminded (yet again…) today that I walk into situations from a place of privilege, assuming that with a little research, leg work, and talking to the right people, things will get done.
But the universe sent me another reminder that:
NOT. ALL. PROBLEMS.
CAN. BE. SOLVED.
And maybe even more profound – that maybe what I see as “problems” are not.
I have been waiting for our pantry guest on the bicycle, the one who “knows my mother”, to come by on a day that I am off work. I have been wanting to go with him to DHS (Department of Human Services), which is right down the street from us, and “get things sorted out” with him.
And today was the day.
I was off work for the majority of the day. After a morning appointment, I was back at home, sitting looking out the kitchen window when what should I see – THE SKY BLUE BICYCLE WHEELING ALONG!!! I jumped out of my seat to greet our friend, but David had beat me to it. David had already had a short conversation with him, and our friend had indicated to him (and now again to me) that he would, “Be back in about half an hour” for the hot coffee I was offering.
Only, this is the guest that has NO. MEMORY. I knew in my heart that he would not remember to turn around and ride back to our house for coffee after he went to do whatever he was currently thinking of (we assume it was go use the bathroom at the 7-11). I kicked myself for not going with him to wherever he was going.
So, I waited. And waited. And waited. And sure enough, about 45 minutes later, he was back!! I rushed out to greet him then ran inside to make him a meal. Today it was hot beef soup, a cup of Jello, a fruit cup, and some coffee. He sat on our steps to eat and I sat down with him.
I knew the window of opportunity was short – I had about two hours until I needed to join a work meeting. And instead of eating, he kept chatting. We talked about the sammmme things he and I always chat about – the 3 hospital stays, the 2 children he has lost track of… Oh, and a new topic today: WHOLE FOODS! He said that is where he grocery shops (which cracked me up, I told him that is called “Whole Paycheck” and it is too rich for my blood! Also, I know for a fact he doesn’t shop there because it is far from where he wanders, and my friend works at Giant and sees him there!).
I realized I needed to leave him alone so that he would finish eating and we could go. I came inside to do a few things (secretly watching him out the window, afraid he would forget that we had agreed to go to DHS after his meal). He finally finished and off we went – him walking his bike and me walking beside.
We had a nice chat while walking. He pointed out a house that “used to be a store” (he might be right on this one, I have always wondered why that house is so close to the street…) and a new house that is being built that he seems fascinated by (this huge mansion-in-the-making led to a lot of talk about “rich people”).
When we got to DHS and walked in, the security guards recognized him and smiled. He chatted with them (very curious what the AirPods in their ears were, although they may well have had that same conversation yesterday and the day before and the day before and the day before…). We were directed to an office, took our number, and sat down to wait.
The EBT issue was rote for her – she had a slip of paper for us to follow to try and resolve that one. As for the more complicated issue, that one would require paperwork.
He and I sat back down to complete the forms. I filled them out, asking him the answers I didn’t know. It was remarkable how many fields were “not applicable” – phone number, address, email, emergency contact, known medical issues, married/divorced…. Some of the questions obviously didn’t apply, and some I didn’t know the answer to and he sure as heck couldn’t remember it!
We turned in the paperwork and got the PIN number on his ETB card reset. All that was left to do now (in my naïve, privileged mind…) was to meet with a case manager! We were told who would be coming to talk with us and we sat and waited.
After a while the original woman came out and apologized. She had not noticed that he was too old to be served in this office. She referred us to the 4th floor and it looked like she was keeping the sacred paperwork (meaning we would have to fill it all out again upstairs…). Luckily, she agreed to give the papers to me, so off we went to the 4th floor (only, that meant passing the security guards again, which meant another conversation about AirPods…).
The woman on the 4th floor also recognized our friend (was that a good sign? A bad sign?? If all of these people KNEW him, why did he not seem to be receiving any services??). We turned in our paperwork to her, filled out a bit more, and sat down to wait again.
As we waited, we chatted, and the DHS worker could hear every bit of the conversation. We talked about rich people. About flowers. About cocaine (this was a new topic). About him being in the hospital (3 times! In diapers!!). And all of the things we always talk about. Occasionally, the worker would look over and smile. I wonder if she has had those same conversations with him in the past?
My time before work was running out so I had to call in back-up support. David (my partner) came to take my place. I briefed him on all that had happened and just as I was about to leave, the woman who had been assigned to our friend came out to greet us.
And from the moment she walked over, it was obvious that she was very frustrated that she had been assigned this case. “Hi, this is our friend… He has memory issues. We are hoping to figure out how to get him a place to sleep,” I explained as we stood in the waiting room. “Yes, I know him,” she said, and went on to explain that he has been into the office repeatedly and they “keep trying to help him” and they have given him “several referrals to the shelter” but he “chooses not to go”. She explained that once they even “gave him a voucher for a taxi, but when he got out of the taxi I don’t know if he went into the shelter or not.”
I could feel my blood starting to boil. “Of course he didn’t go into the shelter!” I wanted to yell, “He got dropped off in a taxi, had no idea where he was or why he was there!”.
I asked if he had a CASE MANAGER, someone to oversee his care and well-being. And this is when she explained the part that floored me… She said that a case manager cannot be assigned until he “gets into the system”, and “getting into the system” means staying at the shelter for quite a while.
This man has NO MEMORY.
If he woke up at a shelter and then went outside for a bike ride, he would have no idea where he had spent last night. He would not return to the shelter.
I had to rush to work so left David with our friend and the woman who was frustrated to be assigned his case (yet again apparently).
David and our friend met with the woman and probably filled out more paperwork. She gave David the address of a shelter. David and our friend walked back to our house, I served them fresh strawberries, we put his bike in the back of our car, and off we drove to the shelter.
Mind you, ALL THROUGHOUT THIS PROCESS, I had been explaining (repeatedly, see the note about him having no memory…) that we were going to try and find him a place with a bed today. And he was ON BOARD. He said, “Yeah, that’s good”.
We pulled up at the shelter (which was not the one we assumed they would assign him) and when we walked in, they greeted him by name. Apparently, DHS had told them to expect him! That seemed like a good sign…
The place was clean and nice. We were shown a table full of food and told all 3 of us could eat (David and I declined, but our buddy sat down with a turkey and cheese sandwich). I talked a bit to the person at the front desk about the issues we were trying to deal with. The staff member was so kind and caring and supportive. But most of all, what I noticed is that he was RESPECTFUL. He talked with such respect to all of the residents (and us). He said that they were ready to do the intake but would wait until our friend finished eating (isn’t that so sweet?).
When our friend was done with his sandwich, we accompanied him to another room for the intake. More paperwork, with many, many more “not applicables” because I do not know his history and he does not remember it. He did not understand many of the questions and I was “interpreting” them (asking them to him in different words). All was going well until they got to the last page - the consent form. The staff member explained that if he signed this form, he was giving the shelter consent to share his information with the state, county, police – whoever was needed to ensure he received the services he needed.
“Wait, what??” he asked.
She tried to explain it again.
“I want to read that!” he said.
She showed him the paper.
“I can’t read it.” I am not sure if the issue is literacy, cognitive functioning, bad eyesight, or a combination of those things, but today was the first time I realized he cannot read.
I offered to “read” it for him, and recapped what it said in simpler terms, keeping the severity and meaning intact.
“I need to think about that….” he said.
Oh. No.
I hadn’t considered that he may not consent to receive services! In my stupid, never been homeless, don’t have severe mental illness state, it had not occurred to me that maybe what I thought he needed is not what he thinks he needs…
Then again… Is he competent to make legal decisions such as that?
“I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s just go see what a room here would look like if you decided to stay. You don’t need to sign the paper! You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. But would you like to at least see a room??”. The staff member nodded to me that yes, that would be possible.
“I’ve been here before. But ok. I will see a room,” he said. (He apparently had been there before, but only as an overnight guest. And this time the paperwork that DHS had sent over would allow him to be a resident.)
The four of us went upstairs to peek into a room. When the staff member opened the door, a man in one of the beds startled. She apologized to him and said we just wanted to see a room (even retelling this now, I see how ridiculous my life filters are – it was as if I was at a hotel asking to preview a room before giving them my credit card…).
Our friend peeked in and saw 4 twin beds in a large room.
“That’s the room???” he asked.
“Well, this is what the rooms all look like,” the staff member explained.
I asked the man in the bed what he thought about this place. I thought, “Hey, maybe if our friend hears it firsthand from someone who lives here, he will be convinced that this is a cool place”. And the guy semi sat up and said, I quote, “This is the best place on earth!” (what an endorsement, right???) then added, “If you respect all of the staff and the other residents”. (Hell, even with the addendum, still a glowing review!)
But our friend had seen enough.
Nope.
He was done.
Wasn’t signing any papers.
Wasn’t staying.
Was ready to go.
As we headed back downstairs the staff member quietly asked me WHY DHS had sent him THERE, as this was obviously not the right sort of facility for him. She said (as I have been thinking) he needs SUPPORTED HOUSING, like a group home with supervision and care.
We headed out to get his bike and pack it back into our car. I was sad. I was angry. I was frustrated. Not with HIM, but with the whole experience, and with myself.
“Where should we drop you off?” I asked him, likely with a more gruff tone than was called for.
“What?”. Of course he didn’t understand. I was asking him to make a CHOICE, make a DECISION. I knoooow he is incapable of that.
“Where should we take you?” I asked again. “I guess we will just drop you off in front of (name of the boarded-up restaurant you have been sleeping in front of).”
And as I looked at him, his face dropped. He went from perfectly fine to being horribly sad.
“You said something bad,” he said quietly.
And I realized what I had done. I had verbalized my frustration. Maybe not in words, but in affect and tone.
“Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to be upset. I am not angry at YOU. I am angry, but not angry at YOU.”
Tears well up in his eyes.
“Really, I am not mad at you, I promise…”
The sweet staff member walked out to the parking lot to find us just as my friend and I both burst into tears.
“I am not angry at you. I am angry at the f-ed up SYSTEM. The system that should support you but doesn’t. That can’t understand this situation. But I promise I am not mad at you.”
We stood in silence a bit. I felt guilty that I didn’t reach out and give him a hug. He clearly needed one.
We dried our tears and got the bike sorted in the hatchback.
The staff member thanked us. He said we were doing a good job. He said he could tell when we walked in that we cared. And told us that maybe this didn’t work out right now, but we should go to bed tonight knowing that we tried.
As we pulled out of the parking lot I asked, in a calm tone, if he would like to be dropped off where he usually stays.
He said no, he would rather go to our house. “Isn’t that where you are going??” he asked.
Why yes, yes it is, friend.
We came home. Got his bike and his bags out of the car. And as he regrouped to go about his evening, he asked quite honestly and genuinely, “Now what was I doing??”.
And the cycle continues.
The system isn’t built for people like him.
And maybe sleeping on the sidewalk is what he prefers.
Maybe my idea that only a bed and a pillow can bring comfort is a faulty one.
We will see him again.
I will heat up another meal and serve up another fruit cup.
We will talk about his missing children again.
He will show me the hospital bracelet again from this March (who knows why he was in…) and explain that he doesn’t want to take it off.
He will sleep on the street.
And I will sleep in my bed.
And I have to figure out how to be ok with that.
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