Yucky love stuff

Its important for social workers to maintain boundaries with their clients, and personal feelings about clients are a slippery slope, mostly something to be managed. The hiccup is that, as human beings and especially as social workers, our feelings are often the fuel behind our fire. They are very real to us, a large part of who we are, and can't just be dismissed.

Lancaster was my client, off and on, for several years, and he worked through a lot with me, I did a lot of work on his behalf. I really believed in him, that recovery and a better life were possible for him. Last October, he passed away; we're still not sure how. I was really upset when I learned of it, and one of my first thoughts was, "I don't think he knew how much I love him." That has no part in the treatment plans or case notes we write with and about clients. There is no evidence-based method for communicating something like this. I literally wished I could see him one more time to tell him. When I've thought about him these past several months, I've felt sad and regretful, mournful.

Last night, I think he came to see me in a dream. I was standing in a hallway, he was in a room. He was clean and calm, not all jittery and excited and loud like he had been in life. When he saw me he came straight to me, as though he'd been looking for me. We hugged tightly for a long time. Nothing was said, and that was it.

Now I feel like he knew I loved him, how much, and he was saying good-bye, maybe letting me know he was at peace. Maybe he knew I was grieving him. Now when I think about him, I feel peace.

Tables turn

Greg was sharing a bit of his story with a newcomers in our group therapy. "You know, it's rough out here on these streets. If you haven't been on the homeless trail - sleeping in the rain and the snow, carrying everything you own on your back, walking everywhere - if you haven't been on it, you don't know how hard it is." Another group member chimed in "It's a motherfucking job." Greg continued with a nod in his direction, "But you know, I was watching channel 9 the other night (the local public broadcast station) and you know, we are so lucky to be in America. People in other countries, third world countries, don't even have places like this agency, have electricity, have cell phones...cars...school... We are so lucky." Other group members were nodding their heads in agreement.

Greg is a two and a half-year sober illiterate crack addict living in a drug-ridden slum. He carries a picture in his wallet of himself in his using days - skinny, scabs on his face - and he tells us, weekly, about his abusive partner and his frustrated attempts to get away from her without raising the attention of the police and jeopardizing his parole.

He has a large heart, and can easily empathize with people in terrible circumstances. His own life could be worse, and he knows that. After all he's lived through, survived, he knows it could be worse. I thought about how many people couldn't imagine living in conditions like his, myself included, and count ourselves blessed not to be in his shoes.

Interesting how the tables turn.