The Story Of Ashley
There were three group homes on the Devereux campus where I worked; one was for men, one for women, and a third, full-sized house for Ashley.
Ashley wasn’t mentally defected nor was she psychotic. She had about six diagnoses and took a small mountain of pills three times a day. She was what used to be called highly neurotic and very high strung. She was fragile.
I was to learn a lot of ugly things about the families of “my people.” These families were angry, or frightened, certainly embarrassed by the fact that their son or daughter was abnormal. Denial was a part of it also. These facts were most noticeable on holidays. All of the families lived close by but at holiday time the clients were left to spend those days with the “direct care staff.” I never worked on holidays in the group homes; I didn’t have to. I only put in extra hours when it was convenient for me since I had a regular day job there. I found all of this heart-breaking and sometimes unbelievable. But then there was Ashley.
Ashley’s parents lived in Connecticut and had to be very rich. They paid Devereux a fortune to house their daughter in her own private house on campus. This was such a new world for me; it took me a while to piece these things together. When I worked with Ashley and her mother would call on the phone I tried to be extra-nice; in reality I disliked her but I was nice for Ashley’s protection. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.
The first time I met Ashley she had an immediate effect on me. She had red hair and could have passed as my little sister. She was so very frail that she also brought out my maternal instinct, no small matter in my case. Finally, she looked and acted like a girl friend I had a long time ago, someone I had loved a lot.
Ashley could never be left alone; there was somebody assigned to watch over her, three shifts, every day. A problem emerged because she was too highly functioning to go to any day program where she could learn skills and socialize with others. So the days dragged. She had a membership at the local YMCA and she liked to exercise; she loved shopping and eating out.
Whenever a Saturday shift person was needed with Ashley I signed up. Often, if a double shift would open up–3 PM to 11 PM, then the “overnight” shift tacked on–I’d sign up for both. Long hours but it never seemed that way because we loved each other’s company. We shopped together, talked a lot, plus I let her have some of the foods that weren’t usually allowed…junk food. I’m glad I broke those rules–it made us both feel good. She told me I was her favorite worker which meant a great deal to me.
The last shift I worked at Devereux was a Saturday afternoon with Ashley. I made up my mind to not tell her I was leaving. I knew her well by then and I knew she’d go into one of her fits of crying. I probably should have said goodbye but this was my downfall as far as working with the people at Devereux. I had done so much hard work there, gave the job everything I had. I just couldn’t bring myself to do what was needed. I forgave myself and I hope Ashley did too.
lgmwriting 