I spent the majority of my workdays on the road this week visiting clients in their homes and listening to their stories. My actual role in this part of my job is to complete a social assessment to accompany their disability certification application medical. I use the social assessment form, however, as a jumping off point to engage an individual in a conversation about their life and their perspective on live. It matters.
Most of the clients I work with live in destitute poverty. They are old before their time, worn from surviving a hard existance. By the time I meet with them, they have chronic health issues and disabilities. It is the rare occasion that I meet with a family who live above the poverty line, but have an adult child with a disability who is applying for this type of "pension." Generally, I'm visiting individuals who have to live in worn down trailers, musty apartments, or subsidized houses that were built so far out in the boonies that they are trapped in the cycle of welfare. Most often, their homes are clean and decorated with memorabilia and old Mother's Day gifts to cover the 15 year old yellowing paint on the walls.
On the surface, this appears to be bleak. However, it is far from the reality. For, it is this part of what I do in my job that I find the most life affirming and rewarding, for I am the recipient of a lesson in the history of the people in this province. I continue to be amazed by the stories I am told and the chance to meet a person who blows my socks off!
Resiliant, humourous, introspective, generous even when they have next to nothing to offer, these surviving storytellers live amongst us, behind a closed door.....sometimes just down the street. They hold a special key to understanding humanity. My social assessment interview gives me the "golden ticket" to a front row centre seat for the drama of real life. And once the person knows that I'm no threat, that I'm not a "welfare inspector" or a "subsidized housing mole" rather I'm there to help them possibly attain a few extra bucks a month through the extended benefits program, things become much more relaxed.
It often starts with small talk about children or pets or grandchildren. Sometimes, we jump right into a discussion on the politics of the day, or the weather or the beauty of New Brunswick's River Valley. Whatever the topic, once the connection is made, the conversation jumps into full swing while I guide them through their history ........ asking questions, making comments, validating ...... knowing full well tht this may be the one and only time they have shared their whole story.
This week, I met an 89 year old woman resplendent in her pink housedress and her dangling rhinestone earrings, most likely a home shopping network fift from one of her children. She was tiny. Her face was covered in wrinkles earned the hard way. She lived with her daughter, whom I was actually there to interview. The two of them regaled me in stories of their life in the small village of Jacquet River in northern New Brunswick.. This old woman had brought up 11 children on her own on a 40 dollar widow's pension and the money she earned cutting brush for the first set of hydro lines in the area.
Their home was a shrine to every gift she had received.........knick knacks, vases filled with artificial flowers, ceramic statures, shellacked wall plaques sporting pictures of relatives, poems, prayers, and animals, stuffed toys, posters, even a few velvet paintings. There were several craftie items purchased at local flea markets and church basement sales dotting every spot on the side tables and adorning every cupboard handle. It was overwhelming and fascinating at the same time.
Tucked in between her treasures, was her faith. Every wall had a framed picture of Pope John Paul II and various religions icons. When I asked her about them, she opened her china cabinet to show me her cups, saucers, spoons and plates collected over the years with the Pope's image adorning them. Every piece had a story behind it. And when she began sharing her feelings about His Holiness, her craggy old voice softened. She spoke from her heart. This beautifully resilient woman had managed to live a long life despite the untolled hardship because of her faith.
It was a week of learning and revelations and of playing the role of the keeper of spoken history. I wouldn't trade the frontline for anything. It's an honour.
Most of the clients I work with live in destitute poverty. They are old before their time, worn from surviving a hard existance. By the time I meet with them, they have chronic health issues and disabilities. It is the rare occasion that I meet with a family who live above the poverty line, but have an adult child with a disability who is applying for this type of "pension." Generally, I'm visiting individuals who have to live in worn down trailers, musty apartments, or subsidized houses that were built so far out in the boonies that they are trapped in the cycle of welfare. Most often, their homes are clean and decorated with memorabilia and old Mother's Day gifts to cover the 15 year old yellowing paint on the walls.
On the surface, this appears to be bleak. However, it is far from the reality. For, it is this part of what I do in my job that I find the most life affirming and rewarding, for I am the recipient of a lesson in the history of the people in this province. I continue to be amazed by the stories I am told and the chance to meet a person who blows my socks off!
Resiliant, humourous, introspective, generous even when they have next to nothing to offer, these surviving storytellers live amongst us, behind a closed door.....sometimes just down the street. They hold a special key to understanding humanity. My social assessment interview gives me the "golden ticket" to a front row centre seat for the drama of real life. And once the person knows that I'm no threat, that I'm not a "welfare inspector" or a "subsidized housing mole" rather I'm there to help them possibly attain a few extra bucks a month through the extended benefits program, things become much more relaxed.
It often starts with small talk about children or pets or grandchildren. Sometimes, we jump right into a discussion on the politics of the day, or the weather or the beauty of New Brunswick's River Valley. Whatever the topic, once the connection is made, the conversation jumps into full swing while I guide them through their history ........ asking questions, making comments, validating ...... knowing full well tht this may be the one and only time they have shared their whole story.
This week, I met an 89 year old woman resplendent in her pink housedress and her dangling rhinestone earrings, most likely a home shopping network fift from one of her children. She was tiny. Her face was covered in wrinkles earned the hard way. She lived with her daughter, whom I was actually there to interview. The two of them regaled me in stories of their life in the small village of Jacquet River in northern New Brunswick.. This old woman had brought up 11 children on her own on a 40 dollar widow's pension and the money she earned cutting brush for the first set of hydro lines in the area.
Their home was a shrine to every gift she had received.........knick knacks, vases filled with artificial flowers, ceramic statures, shellacked wall plaques sporting pictures of relatives, poems, prayers, and animals, stuffed toys, posters, even a few velvet paintings. There were several craftie items purchased at local flea markets and church basement sales dotting every spot on the side tables and adorning every cupboard handle. It was overwhelming and fascinating at the same time.
Tucked in between her treasures, was her faith. Every wall had a framed picture of Pope John Paul II and various religions icons. When I asked her about them, she opened her china cabinet to show me her cups, saucers, spoons and plates collected over the years with the Pope's image adorning them. Every piece had a story behind it. And when she began sharing her feelings about His Holiness, her craggy old voice softened. She spoke from her heart. This beautifully resilient woman had managed to live a long life despite the untolled hardship because of her faith.
It was a week of learning and revelations and of playing the role of the keeper of spoken history. I wouldn't trade the frontline for anything. It's an honour.
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