For Robert
Today while having a chat with a former coworker, I found out that a man I was taking care of two years ago at the group home where I worked died recently. I had quit the job nearly two years ago, I only kept up with the former coworker, but there were a few times I would give the residents of the group home a thought or two. What's sad about working with the developmentally disabled is aplenty. In short, the social work bureaucracy is beyond horrible - if you are working for them on a PRN / optional basis (such as being a substitute teacher or a job coach), one day they will just forget about you. They will just never call or text you again, and if and when you reach out to them, they just won't respond and move onto the next person. If you work for them on a full time basis at part time hours (such as being a direct support professional at the group home where I was) when you will be working crazy hours and worked to death, they will treat you badly and force you to quit or fire you. This will usually be an accusation of something having to do with drugs - either they will accuse you of pinching the narcotics or not distributing them correctly. I was gotten on the second. There was a guy there in his early twenties whose family was very much involved in his life still, so most every weekend he was checked out on Friday evenings and returned on Sunday afternoons. Apparently one day he did not go home for the weekend, it was my weekend shift on, and no one bothered to tell me that he was still there and needed to take his meds. As he never came down to take them, he apparently went almost four days without his bucket of pills he took regularly. So I was written up, and I said "We're done" and I gave my notice.
Specifically, once I had distributed the meds to all the consumers, taken their vitals (blood pressures and blood sugars) and recorded them in the binders, I would go off to one guy's apartment and be his 1 on 1. He was an older guy named Robert, his last name escapes me at this time. I managed to free him of much of his hoarding habits, cleaned his place from top to bottom, and made some great improvements in his general living situation. While he enjoyed the privacy of his own apartment, he was not cognizant of many a thing and there was A LOT of garbage around the house. Once I was able to throw most of it out, as the level was up to my chest in the bedroom, I moved onto more laborious projects such as cleaning the fridge, cleaning the oven, organizing the closets, etc. Robert eventually did things on his own (laundry, vacuum the floor, wash dishes, etc.), I took him out a few times grocery shopping nearby and would make his dinner every Monday morning, but otherwise that was the extent of our relationship. I can't say I had an affection for him by any means, we were just "there" with each other most days. Most days when he didn't go off to work in the day program cleaning jobs for the developmentally disabled, we sat on his couch and watched Walker, Texas Ranger, Cops, or Judge Alex. He never said much, I didn't say much to him either. Once I had given my notice I didn't tell him or any of the other residents that I had quit, one of them said to me one morning that she will miss me because I was nice to them and gave me a hug. I wasn't looking for recognition for it, I was just being I told her. And I didn't say good-bye to Robert when I left, I doubt he noticed if I was there or not.
I did give him a thought or two once I had left there. Robert was an older guy from another time and place. While he was in his early sixties, he talked like someone from the Great Depression Era. He talked about all the crap they play on the radio, how bars were horrible places, and buildings that used to be in places years ago, even though he had never listened to a song on the radio nor been to a bar. There was one framed photograph in the house of his parents, who looked like very elderly people. I was thinking that maybe they were actually his grandparents who may have raised him but he didn't know that. I asked another employee if Robert had any family, she said no, all of them were dead. He didn't have any friends or acquaintances, no one ever came to see him. And what did we say to one another? Not much. I just wanted to spend some quiet time and the job pretty much supplied that to me - I watched a lot of movies on Netflix on my laptop and got work done that I would not have otherwise. Robert had no idea what a smartphone or a tablet was. He didn't know who the president was, he couldn't read or write and had never been on the internet.
I got into it once with him when he ended up shoving me in the chest for going into the bedroom closet without permission, and my supervisor had to come and have a conference. I think this was the end of my good standing relationship with them was this conference. The supervisor Susie has since retired - she probably ended up embezzling tens of thousands of dollars from all the residents and had enough to never work a day in her life again. She said I needed to interact him more in the community rather than just sit around the house. I asked what she wanted him and me to do, she said take him to a flea market. A flea market? Where does one find a flea market in 2016? And you want me to take him to this flea market at 7 o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday in the middle of November? A few days later I got the phone call about the drugs not being distributed correctly and that was that for me and that job.
Depressing? Of course it is. I don't know how he died, I knew he had cancer years before I knew him, maybe it came back. Also those who are developmentally disabled don't have as long a life as typical people do because there are a lot more things wrong with them in general. Any of those factors could have played a role. His existence was depressing, but I'm not sure if he had a concept of it. He kept the TV on at all times because all he heard was nothing. He had no friends or family, nothing but silence. He must have gone through countless workers at the group home in his lifetime, and they probably took all the valuables if he had any. All his stuff (clothes, silverware, appliances, furniture, etc.) was scattered to the wind. Perhaps somewhere there is a thrift store with the photographs that would have otherwise ended up in a landfill, no one knows who the people in them are. And what happened to Robert? He was scattered to the wind himself. When he died no doubt they burned him and that was that, compliments of the county. He and I ate some Oreo cookies sometimes. Otherwise I have no special moments to share with him or anyone else.
RIP Robert. I was just another of the endless, faceless train of people who went through. You probably don't remember me, but I thought someone should say that they remembered you because, after all, you mattered to someone.
Specifically, once I had distributed the meds to all the consumers, taken their vitals (blood pressures and blood sugars) and recorded them in the binders, I would go off to one guy's apartment and be his 1 on 1. He was an older guy named Robert, his last name escapes me at this time. I managed to free him of much of his hoarding habits, cleaned his place from top to bottom, and made some great improvements in his general living situation. While he enjoyed the privacy of his own apartment, he was not cognizant of many a thing and there was A LOT of garbage around the house. Once I was able to throw most of it out, as the level was up to my chest in the bedroom, I moved onto more laborious projects such as cleaning the fridge, cleaning the oven, organizing the closets, etc. Robert eventually did things on his own (laundry, vacuum the floor, wash dishes, etc.), I took him out a few times grocery shopping nearby and would make his dinner every Monday morning, but otherwise that was the extent of our relationship. I can't say I had an affection for him by any means, we were just "there" with each other most days. Most days when he didn't go off to work in the day program cleaning jobs for the developmentally disabled, we sat on his couch and watched Walker, Texas Ranger, Cops, or Judge Alex. He never said much, I didn't say much to him either. Once I had given my notice I didn't tell him or any of the other residents that I had quit, one of them said to me one morning that she will miss me because I was nice to them and gave me a hug. I wasn't looking for recognition for it, I was just being I told her. And I didn't say good-bye to Robert when I left, I doubt he noticed if I was there or not.
I did give him a thought or two once I had left there. Robert was an older guy from another time and place. While he was in his early sixties, he talked like someone from the Great Depression Era. He talked about all the crap they play on the radio, how bars were horrible places, and buildings that used to be in places years ago, even though he had never listened to a song on the radio nor been to a bar. There was one framed photograph in the house of his parents, who looked like very elderly people. I was thinking that maybe they were actually his grandparents who may have raised him but he didn't know that. I asked another employee if Robert had any family, she said no, all of them were dead. He didn't have any friends or acquaintances, no one ever came to see him. And what did we say to one another? Not much. I just wanted to spend some quiet time and the job pretty much supplied that to me - I watched a lot of movies on Netflix on my laptop and got work done that I would not have otherwise. Robert had no idea what a smartphone or a tablet was. He didn't know who the president was, he couldn't read or write and had never been on the internet.
I got into it once with him when he ended up shoving me in the chest for going into the bedroom closet without permission, and my supervisor had to come and have a conference. I think this was the end of my good standing relationship with them was this conference. The supervisor Susie has since retired - she probably ended up embezzling tens of thousands of dollars from all the residents and had enough to never work a day in her life again. She said I needed to interact him more in the community rather than just sit around the house. I asked what she wanted him and me to do, she said take him to a flea market. A flea market? Where does one find a flea market in 2016? And you want me to take him to this flea market at 7 o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday in the middle of November? A few days later I got the phone call about the drugs not being distributed correctly and that was that for me and that job.
Depressing? Of course it is. I don't know how he died, I knew he had cancer years before I knew him, maybe it came back. Also those who are developmentally disabled don't have as long a life as typical people do because there are a lot more things wrong with them in general. Any of those factors could have played a role. His existence was depressing, but I'm not sure if he had a concept of it. He kept the TV on at all times because all he heard was nothing. He had no friends or family, nothing but silence. He must have gone through countless workers at the group home in his lifetime, and they probably took all the valuables if he had any. All his stuff (clothes, silverware, appliances, furniture, etc.) was scattered to the wind. Perhaps somewhere there is a thrift store with the photographs that would have otherwise ended up in a landfill, no one knows who the people in them are. And what happened to Robert? He was scattered to the wind himself. When he died no doubt they burned him and that was that, compliments of the county. He and I ate some Oreo cookies sometimes. Otherwise I have no special moments to share with him or anyone else.
RIP Robert. I was just another of the endless, faceless train of people who went through. You probably don't remember me, but I thought someone should say that they remembered you because, after all, you mattered to someone.
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