I went to visit my Uncle Stanley this weekend in NYC. Stanley has been institutionalized since he was like 10. He's now 76. He lives in a group home for people on welfare. Why he's on welfare is a mystery to me... you'd have to ask my grandmother. But since she, and my grandpa, and even my ma are all dead, I go and visit him a few times a year.
Stanley is autistic, though he was originally diagnosed as schizophrenic (doctors didn't know shit about either back in the 40s). I think he must have hit his ma or something (autistics 'hit out' a lot), so they put him away. ...Until recently, doctors actually thought the cause of autism was mothers who hated their babies (consciously or not), and thus psychologically damaged them.
I love Stanley very much. When I was little, I used to spend the summers with my grandma (parents were sick of me?), and she used to pick Stanley up from whatever shithole 'home' he was living at and take us all the to the beach. My step-grandfather had a 'crazy' daughter too, and she used to come along and chain-smoke. Those are some of the happiest memories of my life.
Stan doesn't say much -- he'll answer 'yes' and 'no' questions, but mostly he just says 'yes.' This can make things challenging, but he's very patient with me and generally nice all around. Everybody seems to love him at his 'home' -- he eats a lot and doesn't make much trouble.
Stanley can read, and he likes to recite the months of the year, along with their relevant holidays. Sometimes, he has flashbacks about bad things that happened to him in the past. He remembers lots of old relatives too and likes to list who is dead and who is not. He says he would like to visit my mother's grave, but the cemetery is much too far. Stanley is very, very fat, and he can barely get in and out of my car to go out to lunch, let alone ride for 4 hours to a cemetery.
My mom and I used to visit him together, so it makes me sad seeing him. My other uncle and I now take turns visiting, but that only amounts to one visitor every-other-month. (No one else in the family has volunteered to take a turn, even though many of them live closer.) It's a happy/sad story, I guess. Without government assistance, Stanley's life could have been much, much worse; but without crap-ass psychologists, his life could have been much, much better. His roommate yells a lot and their room smells like pee. I really should go visit more often...
Stanley is autistic, though he was originally diagnosed as schizophrenic (doctors didn't know shit about either back in the 40s). I think he must have hit his ma or something (autistics 'hit out' a lot), so they put him away. ...Until recently, doctors actually thought the cause of autism was mothers who hated their babies (consciously or not), and thus psychologically damaged them.
I love Stanley very much. When I was little, I used to spend the summers with my grandma (parents were sick of me?), and she used to pick Stanley up from whatever shithole 'home' he was living at and take us all the to the beach. My step-grandfather had a 'crazy' daughter too, and she used to come along and chain-smoke. Those are some of the happiest memories of my life.
Stan doesn't say much -- he'll answer 'yes' and 'no' questions, but mostly he just says 'yes.' This can make things challenging, but he's very patient with me and generally nice all around. Everybody seems to love him at his 'home' -- he eats a lot and doesn't make much trouble.
Stanley can read, and he likes to recite the months of the year, along with their relevant holidays. Sometimes, he has flashbacks about bad things that happened to him in the past. He remembers lots of old relatives too and likes to list who is dead and who is not. He says he would like to visit my mother's grave, but the cemetery is much too far. Stanley is very, very fat, and he can barely get in and out of my car to go out to lunch, let alone ride for 4 hours to a cemetery.
My mom and I used to visit him together, so it makes me sad seeing him. My other uncle and I now take turns visiting, but that only amounts to one visitor every-other-month. (No one else in the family has volunteered to take a turn, even though many of them live closer.) It's a happy/sad story, I guess. Without government assistance, Stanley's life could have been much, much worse; but without crap-ass psychologists, his life could have been much, much better. His roommate yells a lot and their room smells like pee. I really should go visit more often...
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xo
T
sorry that you are feeling guilt about stanley. you do have to live your life though and no matter what you did, you'd always be able to say 'i should do this better' or something like that. guilt is a part of life, unfortunately. and unfortunately, not everyone gets the best life and they do have to sit around in 'homes' and wait for those special occassions. i wish that didn't have to happen to anyone. maybe you could give him an extra surprize visit every now and again. or slap those other neglectful family members!