Going Home Again

Keller Deal and I were sitting at her desk searching through old files when Charles walked up. Charles is my "adopted son" in that I am his representative payee and we have been a constant in one another lives for more than a decade. He is over six feet tall, very thin, black with a shaved head and a deep voice. He is mentally ill and carries on lengthy conversations with himself. He is also our janitor. I love Charles as much as I've loved anyone who has ever come through Union Mission.

Placing one hand on top of his head and closing his eyes, he addresses us. "Sir, I want to ask you this in front of your secretary..."

"She is not my secretary, Charles."

"In front of your Executive Assistant," he continues undeterred.

"She's the Director of Community Affairs," I explain.

"Well whatever she is," Charles pushes on, obviously not one of those who care much about people's titles, "I want to ask you in front of her."

Keller giggles. I shake my head as this is typical of many conversations that Charles and I have.

"Can I go to Augusta in a less expensive manner?"

Augusta, Georgia is two-and-a-half hour trip up the road. It is where Charles grew up and he has vague memories of his father there. I have purchased him bus tickets, booked him a room at the Hyatt on the river, watched the staff pack him food, and have sent him twice now. He dresses in his finest clothes (something that he rarely does as he wears thread bare pants with holes in them, shirts held closed with pins, and flip flops that over handle half a foot) and we all gather to say good bye. Watching him get on the bus leaves me with the same feeling that parents have when they put their 1st grader on the bus for the first time. A lump rises in my throat and I wonder if he will come back to us.

So far, so good. He has returned with an Augusta Chronicle to prove to me that it was actually Augusta that he went to even though we bought the bus ticket for him.

Charles came to us after being paroled from prison. He has been with us ever since. He is a daily presence in my life and as much a part of Union Mission as I am. This is as good of a quality of life as he can likely manage and he is surrounded by a staff who care for him when he doesn't do such a good job of caring for himself.

Still, he wants to go home. Even though there is no home there. No family. He knows no one. There are only vague recollections of these things and Charles wants to get as close as he can to them.

How can I tell him no? Everybody eventually wants to go home again. Home is where they want you. Home is where you want to be wanted. So Charles will go and remember what it was like when he had these things. Then I pray like hell that he will come back to be surrounded by those of us who love him.

Then I think how thankful that I am for my home. And for my family. And for my friends. And for Charles.