Let’s hear it for the Ymca.. 

Nope,  I’m not trying to start a bizzare, text based karaoke session.  I was being pretty literal. 

Today I took mum to try and get her into some homeless accommodation, and I what I learned is. …  for a homeless woman in her 50s with no dependant children in this town the Ymca is the only option. I know the song pretty well and could’ve sword it was for young men… So I was surprised  by this turn of events.

 Cheesy one hit wonder  popmusic lied to me!?   That hurts,  I thought we were so in tune. 

We did the interview that people wanting to live there do,  which took  a long time but there was a lot to cover.  I did a lot of the talking,  she was going off on tangents and confusing the issues they needed to address in order to either take her on the list or not. 

I told the truth to all of the questions, things I know she would’ve lied about.  She tried to play down certain things even with me right there!  They now know a lot  of the things I’ve been writing this blog about,i should’ve just given them a link!  One thing I’m not sure I ever  mentioned on here though is that growing up I have lived in more homeless hostels than I can count on one hand. I suspect that having children in-tow always made the process easier, and here I was helping her again. 

The reason I mention this is,  she was asked today while doing the applying-for-homeless-housing-dance more than once if she had ever lived in homeless accommodation before.  The first time she started to give a very long answer, she was confusing he woman asking so I cut in and said “many times, all over fifteen years ago never in this town, do you only need one and if so do you want the latest?”  that sped things up. But the woman looked at me with such apologetic eyes,  not for asking the question, but because she’s a human, and that answer fucking sucked. I gave her  a look as if to say tank you, and she filled in the box on her sheet of  questions. 

The second time I simply said  the same thing again, but the lady asking her this time and myself had already exchanged one meaningful look a little earlier after showing my detailed knowledge of mums old abuse and prostitution habits, so thankfully by then  I suspect she  couldn’t feel much more sorry for me than she already did. 

While working through the background information for prospective tenants some of the questions were about past and present alcohol or drug abuse. I told her of mums past and barely-past for both. 

(Oh which reminds me,  mum admitted she had drugs at the weekend, I stupidly asked what,  and she told me amphetamines. Her old favourite,  and the drug that ripped away my childhood and innocence. But she was keen to tell me she didn’t  inject…. Like that would make it better somehow). 

As I was saying,  I’m telling the lady everything including this weekend, and there had been drugs and alcohol consumed.  When I told her I stated that mum would be keen to point out she hadn’t injected it but swallowed. (Yes I was clearly angry). She asked if it had been pill or liquid (one of the few drugs you can get so many varieties of) and I stated neither, it would’ve been powder. The woman was clearly confused. .. So I explained “it would’ve been powder in a rizzla. .. You know,  rolling paper? Then swallowed because the paper dissolves.  I wasn’t  there but I know from growing  up that’s the scenario”  

That’s when I saw not just the sympathy look,  but the teary eyed sympathy look. Never stops feeling  a mixture or shameful, unfair,  and unwanted.  Knowing it’s coming from a place of kindness doesn’t help either,  and there’s no way to verbally respond to that look,  so you just carry on. 

This lady is either Pat or Pam. She works in the Ymca building in my town where my mum will hopefully soon live. After all was covered,  all boxes ticked and discussions discussed she got my mum onto the waiting list to be housed with and supported by their organisation 

That is a very good thing,  and even though I know the place is also rife with all manner of junkie and bad influence she could get in with… Let’s face it she finds those people anyway, and this way she can’t bring them to my door (Not that she ever has, in my adult life) and with people like PatPam to support her I’m going to choose to have hope that she can drag herself from the sewers. 
PatPam called me within ten minutes of us leaving the building, She  might have a room for mum by tomorrow which I find amazing because when we went in,  there were three women ahead of her on the list.

 I like PatPam. 
Today’s word prompt was carefree,  I think I have a long way to go before I can ever be that, especially as far as mum’s  concerned.  I wanted that today as we left that place. I wanted not to care that, without me letting her stay here until they found her a room she would be in the park. I wanted not to care what people would think of me if I refused her a roof… And losing others if  I have in and didn’t turn her away.  

Mostly I wanted not to care about her anymore, but clearly I do. 

Tomorrow I’m going to spend time on my allotment, and watching my dog run like a doofus in the fields on the way. Those things make me happy, they make me temporarily carefree. 

 

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