Veteran's Day

[Brad Fox]

A Veteran’s Day perspective: I first met Dave on one of my afternoon exercise walks in the summer of 2012. I had been walking one of my regular routes several days in a row and had noticed his tired old camper, eventually realizing that I had also seen it at other locations in my neighborhood. It was pretty hard to miss, as it was faded, dirty and rusty, and conspicuously missing its rear spare tire. Walking by the camper several days in a row, I had seen Dave sitting at the wheel, staring forward, with a cigarette in his hand that was resting on the hot window sill. I marveled to myself that anyone would sit in an aluminum “box” like that in the direct heat of the afternoon summer sun. After 3 days of witnessing this curious behavior, something (someone?) nudged me to go inquire about his welfare. I knew he wasn’t on vacation because the camper didn’t look in very good shape and it never seemed to move. The location where it was parked was not near any water, electrical or septic facilities, so I imagined he must be obtaining services elsewhere. Strangely, it didn’t occur to me that the owner might be homeless, as I tend to associate homelessness with shopping carts and sleeping bags on the sidewalk. 
As I walked toward the camper I could see the sweat on Dave’s face and arms as he sweltered in the sun. I noticed spider webs on the outside surfaces of the camper as well as cigarette ashes spread across the faded, rusting paint. The smell of beer and other putrid odors wafted from the interior. Asking if there was anything I could do for him, Dave became quite animated and engaging. As I would come to realize, Dave could be quite social with people he was meeting for the first time. He was quite a conversationalist who never let the conversation lull. He mentioned that he could sure use some food and asked if I would kindly walk down to the local restaurant and buy him some soup to go (I later found out he had been banned from this restaurant). Upon returning, I asked him if he needed some water to wash it down, and he assured me that he had plenty of warm beer and water to get the job done. I had to leave him shortly after returning, but I resolved to check in on him the next opportunity I got. 
Over a period of several days, it became clear who Dave was, and what his particular life challenges were. He shared about his estranged family and how he had had several marriages and relationships. One wife had died choking on food, another had left him for the drug lifestyle and other men. His son had recently been in prison and was now on the streets hustling a buck as a distributor for a drug pusher. He was proud to let me know that he was a Vietnam veteran, although his service dates seemed mixed up to me. He also told me that he had been in a serious car accident in the not too distant past, had been thrown from the car and suffered serious brain injuries. (note:  I've since heard stories from the "street" that he was severely beaten by a jealous boyfriend with a baseball bat)  He had spent more than a year under medical care and convalescing and really only knew what others had told him. It seemed to me that Dave had suffered damage to his brain’s logic and memory circuits, which became increasingly apparent over the following weeks and months. As I established trust with Dave, he became even more willing to share about his medical and personal issues. 

I continued my neighborhood walks over the following weeks and I found that Dave moved his motor home from near my house to the nearby industrial park, and then to a side street near a thrift store. He had to move because Sheriff’s officers rousted him on a frequent basis. Dave seemed to enjoy my company and he was always very communicative, often carrying the conversation to talk about his life on the streets. On two occasions he was feeling so sick that I ended up taking him to the Fallbrook Hospital. I stood by as his friend and advocate to the hospital community. It was at the hospital that Dave’s memory loss was most evident. He had stories about his past, but he really wasn’t able to recall any concrete information beyond his military serial number. The hospital personnel performed like saints with Dave. They were very respectful and courteous to him; very encouraging. During one visit, an orderly actually gave him a bath and this cleaned him up considerably. He was in a bed for several days getting “pumped up” with antibiotics and restored with warm, nutritious food and comfortable rest. But Dave would always get “antsy” without the repartee of street society, so he was always in a hurry to get discharged.
Checking in on Dave became a daily habit for me. Eventually, I would bring him to my home and let him use my shower to get cleaned up and dressed in some donated clean clothes. One day we’d look into getting his motor home registration renewed. Occasionally, we’d drive up to the post office to check for his Social Security check. Another day we went to the bank, opened an account for him and obtained a debit card. It was quite a spectacle to see him walk into the refined lobby of a bank and request services of the personnel. He was totally oblivious to the fecal stains on his pants, and the filthy conditions of his shirt, hair and beard. But he was undaunted by his personal status. He loved to flirt and tell slightly off-color jokes which was slightly uncomfortable for me as his advisor and advocate. But people were invariably respectful of Dave even though he gave off a decidedly foul odor. As we went into quick marts and walked down the street, it became clear to me that Dave was a cornerstone of the Fallbrook street culture. He was greeted and affirmed by all his acquaintances. He reveled in the attention and brief conversations he held with them. He was a man of stories, although they were few and repetitive. He also shared that there were certain locations that he was banned from due to some past arguments that escalated, or some indiscretions like using very public places for his personal bathroom.
The motorhome was both a haven and a hazard to Dave. It had been given to him by a kind soul at a thrift store where he had previously done odd jobs. It was a blessing for Dave because it got him off the streets and gave him a degree of safety and comfort. But over the months, it became a receptacle for everything that Dave bought or borrowed. Food packages, beer cans, cigarette butts, tp, body wastes, and the jetsam and flotsam of street life. No water, no electricity, no bathroom. To Dave’s credit, he religiously refrained from throwing his cigarette butts or trash outside of the RV. But this behavior led to absolutely putrid living conditions within. Returning home one day I got a message from a sheriff’s deputy asking me to call him. It seems Dave needed to be taken to the hospital by ambulance because he had been “rolled” by some person or persons unknown, beaten up and robbed. Hospital staff got him cleaned and stitched up again and he was able to be transported back to the motorhome by the sheriff. The deputy had obtained my name from the hospital and wanted to know more information about Dave. Reluctantly, he had brought Dave “home” and allowed him to crawl into its filthy environment. The deputy had a good heart; he wanted to know more about Dave’s history and current psychological condition. Like me, he felt that the RV was more of a liability to Dave’s health than it was worth as a shelter. We talked about the possibility of getting Dave committed for a mental health checkup and then having the motorhome towed away.
Throughout the summer I worked with Dave trying to find a alcohol rehab program that might accept him as a client. I thought trying the Veteran’s Administration might be a helpful possibility, if a long shot at that. After multiple trips to Escondido and Oceanside VA offices, interviews, videoconferences and intake sessions, the admin personnel said they had a bed for Dave in La Jolla. When the day came, Dave was ready to go, as he was experiencing one of his many “lows” in health status. He was concerned that I keep an eye on his motorhome, but I knew in my heart that I’d have to let events transpire without intervention. 
After a week in the VA hospital, it became clear to the psychiatrists on staff that Dave had a severe learning disability. He wasn’t able to participate in group rehab largely because he couldn’t keep track of what was being shared. His physical health was weak, but again the antibiotics, food and bed rest had a salutary effect. He was using a walker to get around (kind of shocking for me, because I’m 10 years older than him!) I brought him a “care package” of magazines and food treats for which he was very grateful. The staff was somewhat amazed by this interaction between Dave and I; apparently many of the vets who were on this psych lockup ward had few, if any, visitors. As time progressed, I could sense a growing unease in Dave’s behavior. Not being able to recall the details of conversations with his psychiatrists, he began to complain about his treatment, particularly the fact that he wasn’t able to come and go as he pleased. He either reached out to, or was contacted by a legal ombudsman of the hospital. Together, they opened his case to be released on his own recognizance. The psychiatrists had been calling me on a weekly basis throughout this time, asking me for more information about Dave. It seemed that the best path for him was going to be a half-way house where he could have a predictable, safe and healthy life. But Dave was adamant about returning to Fallbrook, where no half-way houses existed. 
As the school year opened up, I lost contact with Dave for about a week. I didn’t know the resolution of his situation but assumed something must be “up.” A local church clergyman informed me that Dave had returned to Fallbrook with only the shirt on his back and was frequenting his old haunts. About a month later, I was driving through town and saw him sitting on a bus bench, taking a mid-morning sun bath. I was eager to talk to him and find out what had happened since we last talked realizing his ability to remember was limited. As I approached him on foot I called out his name, and true to form, he was happy to return a greeting. After a few probing questions and ambiguous answers on his part, I asked him if he knew who I was.

He said no…

I was left to ask what was God’s perspective on this story? Was it about Dave, or me? Or both? Although Dave received much needed help and comfort from me, his destructive life-style continues in spite of my best efforts. I am left to question what meaning my efforts had. Here are some great quotes and insights that have encouraged me as I struggle with the futility of helping a mentally ill vet.

“At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done. We will be judged by "I (Jesus) was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in.” Mother Teresa

“The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: 'If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?' But...the good Samaritan reversed the question: 'If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” Martin Luther King

“I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing I know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve.” 
Albert Schweitzer

“Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” Mother Teresa

There are many in the world dying for a piece of bread, but there are many more dying for a little love. Mother Teresa

King Jesus said “Truly I say to you, Because you did it to the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” 

I think I’m stronger now; more able and willing to help people desperately in need, even though they themselves may not recognize the need. Isn’t that what Christ did for me? I declare that I am made in His image and am capable of love that surpasses understanding. Thanks, Jesus! Happy Veteran’s Day!