Someone I'll never forget...

(This is another one from the past...1998 to be exact...)

There was a point in my life that I felt I needed to earn more money than case management was paying me. I left the agency and took a job as a Program Manager for one of the larger corporate run residential service providers. Half way through the year I worked for them, they purchased two homes from another agency and set them up as community based residential facilities. The homes opened in mid-June of that year, understaffed and not ready. As the coordinator, I was called on a lot to come in and work full shifts with the residents.

One of the residents was a man who had previously lived in his own apartment. He was born with Cerebral Palsy. He had lived a full life and, as his abilities slipped away, he became angry. Many people refused to work with him because be could be a real pistol. He would say the meanest, most hurtful things to the staff. Or he would say things steeped in sexual innuendo which made the staff uncomfortable. The horrible irony of it was that his disability made it impossible for him to do anything. He could not even feed himself let alone act on any impulse he may have. When he came to the home he was decidedly not happy that this was the course his life had taken. Once able to drive, study, teach and lead a life full by any standards was now limited only to his imagination and fading memories. And to make matters worse, the disabilities of the other residents made him feel like he didn't belong anywhere.

Larry made it difficult for many of the staff to work with him. He was demanding. He wanted things his way and let everyone know it. Most of the staff were very insecure about dealing with him. But I found that he appreciated those people who didn't cower when he bellowed. Once you established a no nonsense attitude with him, he was fine. He was also extremely intelligent and just plain funny. One of the most truly genuine funny people I have ever met. He was a virtual encyclopedia of amusing anecdotes. He had done more in his life that I had done and I was fully able. He was also a bit of a hell raiser!

One rule in the home that Larry detested was BEDTIME. He knew there was a shift change at 11pm and understood it was necessary for all personal care to be completed by then. But he had never done to bed before 10pm in his life and he saw no reason why he should start now. Since he was unable to do anything for himself, his cares demanded that two people be present. It involved a lot of lifting, shifting and tugging. Must to the chagrin of my staff, I altered the bedtime rule for Larry. He was able to stay up until the third shift person came on duty and then the second and third shift person would do his cares. This meant Larry could stay up until at least 11pm. Everyone else in the house was in bed by nine. They didn't even want to stay up later than that. This meant when I was working a second shift I got to spend a couple of hours each night just talking to Larry. Larry smoked like a fiend and we would sit on the deck while he smoked. Over the next 5 months, I realized that Larry was more than just someone who lived in a group home - he was a friend. Of course, as a social worker, I kept my professional boundaries but if circumstances were different and Larry was not disabled, I think he would have been someone I could have easily been friends with.

Unfortunately, the circumstances of the job were not good for me. I was working non-stop and I knew I needed a change. I went back to case management. Oddly enough, Larry was on my case load! But, it was only a short time later that I got a call from the group home. Larry had passed away. It was sudden and unexpected. And so sad.

I learned a lot from Larry. I learned that you really can't judge a book by it's cover. I learned that when you have no faculties to do anything physical for yourself sometimes your voice is your greatest weapon. I learned the true meaning of dignity and grace. Oh, he could be a pain in the ass and I mean a TRUE pain in the ass! I even learned to appreciate that. I still think of him often. And I know I will always miss him.