Meet Kenneth

I want to tell a little story about a man I’ve been meeting outside the building at NLEC. When I come into work in the mornings I see him standing on the fire escape outside our building. He’s not there loitering, he’s warming his hands under the dryer vent. He’s not causing problems. He’s alone. I walk up and ask him his name and I introduce myself. I’m a firm believer in the power of greetings and listening. I ask him some basic questions about himself, and he opens up.
I’ve not seen him before in the neighborhood so I offer assistance in learning his way around. I learn from Kenneth about the things he cares about. He tells me he feels frustrated because he can’t hear well, he’s partially deaf. He has trouble remembering things. He tells me a little about his recent history. Drinking years ago led to permanent problems with his memory. And that problem comes up as we talk because he can’t remember what he just said, or what I just said. I try not to ask too many questions, but I let him know where he can get a meal, where he can get access to a nurse, and I encourage him to get his recent “scrip” filled and get his meds because his seizures won’t go away.
A week later I see Kenneth outside again in the morning, and I ask how he’s doing. He remembers me as a friendly face and I try to keep the conversation short. I encourage him to come in the building later and we’ll talk more. Later on he asks for a private space where we can talk and I find an empty room off our lobby. He gets serious about his business. He talks about committing a crime so he can get locked up or committing suicide. But then he says he prays everyday and thanks Jesus for another day alive. I ask him if he wants to do God’s will. And he asks how he can know what that is. I assure him that God wants him to be alive and to see his health improve. God doesn’t want him to be so alone. And he questions whether that is true.
We talk about various possibilities relating to his needs. We discuss a plan to check in at another shelter tonight. We talk about his discharge instructions from the hospital recently. And the conversation comes back to the fact that he just wants to get his money at the end of the month. He wants out of this town.
I point out the fact that his seizure disorder is quite serious and that he should try to get his prescription filled. He says, “But my urine problem is so bad that I can’t ride a bus.” I looked into Metro’s Call A Ride for him but learned that appointments are backed up and it would cost $13 dollars each way to get to the hospital. He settles on bus tickets and instructions on which bus to take.
I’m not convinced he’ll make it there today, or that he’ll do anything. This is what it’s like here. Missouri has a grave disability clause in Mental Health services. A person has to be willing to harm themselves or another person before they can be committed involuntarily for treatment. In Kenneth’s case he has an organic brain injury. It doesn’t fall under the usual classification for mental illness treatment anyway.
I might be able to get him into a residential care facility, so we discuss that as a possible plan. He wants all the money from his debit card at the first of the month to travel. Even though his seizures could kill him without medication, he won’t consent to treatment. He goes to the hospital every time he has a seizure. They learn he has a “scrip” and they discharge him with care instructions.
There’s got to be a better way. I place calls to other mobile outreach providers and they take his name and location down. But when he won’t go to his appointments or get his meds there’s not much more they’ll do.
This is the face of homelessness that the government claims to have the answer to. He could easily qualify as chronically homeless and be placed in permanent housing. But no one is going to hunt him down and force him to take his meds and lock him in his apartment. That’s not how it works.
Does the public know how it works? Please keep this man in your prayers. And pray for a more just society here in Missouri and in our nation.

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Filed under homelessness, mental illness, Personal, Prayer

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