Moving on

Volker Klaue

When a girl who is as severely handicapped as Sharon is has moved away from a group home, it could mean many things. Maybe she had moved back to her parents (in Sharon's case, there was a single mom who was an alcoholic), or maybe the Ministry had found a more suitable place for her. She certainly had no way of letting us know, and the people working in the group home could not or would not give us any information since they did not know us.

My son Don, severely handicapped from injuries he suffered as a pre-schooler, went to the fall retreat and seemed to enjoy the weekend with former friends from the hospital and the treatment centre. Yet, he certainly missed Sharon, whom he had known for many years from school and summer camps. In his slow, chopped-up speech, he said to me later, "I wonder where Sharon is." He seemed to be concerned for her.

A few years earlier, my son had been eager to move away from his family and live in a group home like many of his friends, but soon he did not seem as happy about his move. The other residents in his home could only laugh or cry but could not respond to his attempts at conversation. Although he, too, was largely confined to a wheelchair, he could eat independently, and he could read and write, although painfully slowly. He would make efforts to meet new friends and have people come and see him, but would let them know he was looking for another home. Now, he was remembering Sharon and her disappearance from her home.

One day, I was in a restauraunt with my wife when at another table I noticed a young lady in a wheelchair. She was trying to scoop up her soup although she was spilling quite a bit on her sweater. An elderly woman opposite was watching anxiously.

"Isn't that Sharon?" I burst out in great surprise.

Sharon dropped her spoon, turned halfway back and gave me a big smile. Even though we had not met for seven or eight years, she seemed to recognize me at once. My wife and I had many questions to ask, but the woman who attended Sharon reminded us that Sharon's main job was to finish her meal. Sharon had one request: "Please come to my housewarming party!"

Later, when Sharon was wheeled out to her van, we found out some bits of information with which we could reconstruct her story. Apparently she had been taken home by her mother, who was living with a common-law husband. Sharon was sexually abused by him. She could not return to the group home, so she ended up in a veteran's hospital, where she was so depressed that she needed psychiatric treatment.

"She is getting a nice apartment now," the attendant assured us before she left.

Whe I told my son about this unexpected meeting, he was quite happy and asked me if he could attend the party or write or call Sharon to find out how she was. Strangely enough, it turned out that the address and phone number we had received did not seem to exist, and for a long time we did not know what to think about Sharon and the story we had heard.

It took another six months before we heard about Sharon on a most unexpected occasion. It was at one of the special meetings concerning my son. His care provider, his social worker and Ministry officals met with me to discuss his residential placement. I made my position clear: "My son should have a chance to experience more privacy and autonomy. He is capable, and he is stifled in his development in this home."

The administrator from the Ministry was blunt: "We have no funds to provide a different place for him."

The social worker spoke up. "We just had a case where such an opportunity was given.<|>.<|>.<|>.<|>"

The administrator interrupted, "If you are thinking of Sharon, that is a different matter. She is set up in her apartment and has supports. . . . Sharon has no family. She has no money. She has been provided for because another client has died. The money allocated for him has been transferred to benefit Sharon."

When I talked to my son later, I felt a sense of contentment, even gratitude. It seemed strange that the principle of justice sometimes comes as a surprise. In many ways, Sharon's life seems depressing. Born a cripple in an unstable home, she was mistreated, ridiculed, deceived and humiliated. Her home, her dignity and her self-worth were taken from her. But then, suddenly, she was recognized as a person able to make choices. She was given personal attendants, a phone to call her friends, and money. Why? Because God is gracious, and He is just, and He wants us to see it. In a world where many people see no fairness, no grace, a little window had been opened for us to see. There is One who knows us well and who will balance our losses and our gains in the end.

Volker Klaue lives in Westbank, B.C.

Return to the M.B.Herald Vol. 37, No. 14 Home Page