Just when things start looking up, they disappear. Non-Raiderfan John was thrilled to have a shiny new ID card in his hand, and the next step was updating his insurance to apply for “food stamps” before the trial to have his disability reinstated. The paperwork arrived. I went to his “home” in the culvert, but he wasn’t there. No problem. I went back later in the afternoon—still not there. Next day, next day, next day… nothing. No one had seen him. I called the hospitals, the police stations. Nada. It’s been over a week now, and nobody has any idea where he’s disappeared to. He’d pointed out where he used to live as we were traveling to the MVD to get his ID previously, so I spent some time scouring that area, then expanded the area, but to no avail. The bobcat was my hint that my search area was getting a bit too rural. The man’s in a wheelchair after all!
It happens. People disappear for days or weeks at a time. He has a reputation as a lady’s man. Some folks think he’s probably shacking up with someone in a hotel room somewhere. If I hadn’t heard it three times, I probably wouldn’t have much faith in the notion. I guess John’s got game. I don’t care—I just pray he’s alright.
I was the one who disappeared last time—the blood clots—so I can’t give him too much grief, but I sure wish he’d call. Not having a phone makes the tunnel much less navigable, and with his limited mobility, it’s hard to imagine where he and his downtrodden wheelchair might be right now.
How do I keep committing time to searching him out? How do I not? I’ve met some shady people asking around—folks I might normally avoid—large groups, alleys, open-air users. Sure, I’ve seen it all before, but given the choice, I’d rather steer clear of that. The people I’m looking for—the strong candidates for success—don’t hang out in those settings. My search was officially getting to be too urban. At some point, I started thinking, “What if I do too much? I think I need to check myself.” Allow me to explain.
There was one guy…
While on my quest for Non-Raiderfan John, a man felt inspired by my story of John’s progress, and asked if I could help him get back into rehab. “I’m just done with this. I need to get my s*** together and get out of here.”That certainly started out well. We talked for a while, traded phone numbers, and spent time texting over the next couple of days. I researched his insurance and put together a plan. He knew from experience that housing was essential after rehab or he’d end up right back in the tunnel, surrounded by drugs, and worse off than he started.The idea is to have a story like this crescendo at the part where I walk him through the doors of the detox facility. Alas, these stories, far more often than not, climax with the offer to come pick him up and bring him to the facility… then nothing. He wasn’t quite as “ready” to get out of the tunnel as he thought he was. I’ll offer again in a week. Eventually, he’ll have a really bad day and reinvigorate his will to commit to treatment and recovery. This is where the general public comes in.
Sometimes we do too much.
Life in the tunnel has to be bad enough to make this guy want to get clean and get out. If he gets money from the street corners and handouts to make life more comfortable, then life in the tunnel won’t seem so bad. If he gets food and cash, he’ll be able to get high without experiencing withdrawal symptoms. I’ll offer him a pathway to get out, but he’ll be happy right where he is. This is where “giving” and “helping” become “enabling” and we do more harm than good by providing the comforts that make life tolerable in the tunnel and ultimately prolong their time living there.I cannot overemphasize the fact that random giving is not only wasted but is actually detrimental to most of the people who receive it.
Ok, so what if I find Non-Raiderfan John again? I have the paperwork to get him on his way to receiving benefits, and then he’ll have the court hearing to get further benefits—financial, that is—from Social Security. What if he uses the money to make his life worse instead of better? I mean, I imagine a life where he lives in an apartment, has groceries delivered, and gets the medical attention he needs to maybe get out of that wheelchair someday. That’s me setting the bar pretty high again. What if he uses the money to rent cheap hotel rooms, buy lottery tickets and cigarettes, and spend his days with a young Polynesian boy named Paulo who’s addicted to video games and animal crackers?I know, in life, there are no guarantees. People are people. I try to pick out the ones who seem to have a good grip on what’s important, but at the same time, I have to accept that I’m going to be wrong sometimes. If I am, I become the quintessential enabler! That thought makes me want to redouble my efforts, each time I hit the tunnel, making sure to narrow the field to find the right people in which to invest. Right now, I just want to find him safe and well so we can advance him to the point of having to choose between good and bad decisions again.
