Compassion

Compassion is an interesting thing. You would think it would apply to those in need pretty well across the board. But it has boundaries and limitations.

For example, my brother John arrived Christmas Eve. He was pretty well a basket case. He is a mentally retarded 61-year-old man in a wheelchair with a broken leg. He is completely dependent, on a list of medications a mile long, was "escaping" from a nursing home where he has been pretty well locked up for five years, both ears were badly infected, he was totally disoriented and a mess of other stuff I won't go into. Needless to say, he was traumatized.

Without hesitation, my wife and I devoted ourselves to bringing him back from the edge. We hustled up various organizations and government bodies to swing into action in order to support John and start him on a recovery process.

There are very limited programs and policies in place for the government to support disabled people in such a situation who arrive from another province. However, the individual bureaucrats, desk jockeys, professionals, clerks and just about everyone who came into contact with John swung into action and did everything possible to help him. As a result, he can stay with us for a while and we are able to nurse him back to health.

To let you know, it has been about a month and John is off of all but one of the meds and that is in a greatly reduced dosage. That's under medical supervision as well. He has weekly therapy to get over his trauma. He is awake now. He enjoys going to the local Junior B hockey games. He has a growing community of friends and circle of support. He is looking forward to getting his cast off. He likes to sing when he's happy. He still cries in fits of anguish and grief, but the fear is leaving him. He's getting better.

John's life of hardship began decades ago when his mother died in 1961 and he was institutionalized for 20 years. The last five years were just the last straw. Right now we look to the future and things get better day by day. In his life John has had people who loved him. And that is what makes it possible for him to begin to recover.

Now, the reason I'm writing about this on a news blog about the homeless mentally ill is this: John got help because people were compassionate about his situation. Of course they were compassionate. He has his brother and family to advocate for him and people have compassion for the mentally retarded. We all know John was born with his condition. He is not at fault. As a matter of fact, even thinking he is at fault is repulsive.

As my wife and I were walking in the local park by the river pushing John along in his wheelchair, we discussed why is it that John gets help while all those people who are very sick and unable to look after themselves -- the homeless mentally ill -- go without. We figure it has to do with compassion. People are compassionate towards John, but, it seems, not towards the mentally ill.

John is easy to love. He smiles at people and waves and says hi to just about everybody. He has an innocence and child-like nature that inspires compassion. Mentally ill people do not.

Furthermore, some of those who are mentally ill have been known to be dangerous. It's fairly rare, but it happens. Generally, mentally ill people are not easy to love.

John is not alone as one who has suffered because of his disability. There are thousands who suffer with no access to services and treatment all across Canada. There are also thousands who do receive treatment and whatever help they need as well. But there is a dividing line here. Some receive compassion within our society and others do not. And the dividing line is hard to define.

The mentally ill are seen as having brought it upon themselves, that they were not born that way. For example, many are associated with the addicted and thereby tainted with the accusation that their disease may be in some way their fault, or that they could recover if they wanted to.

The statistics contradict the belief that the homeless mentally ill are sick because they fried their brains on drugs. It is not fair to equate mental illness with drug addiction. These people are just sick. They have no hope and no access to help and as a result, they are a major drain on society.

The madness is that they can possibly recover and the cost of their recovery is far less than the cost of managing a hopeless situation for both the ailing and the surrounding community.

It appears that from a lack of compassion, rather than a lack of ability, we have found ourselves with a major social problem.

And the paradox is, that this is from people who are basically compassionate.

What’s Calgary Really Like?

This is my old stompin’ grounds. I hitch hiked out here back in 1968 and began work as a gravel truck driver delivering to the foot of the Husky Tower as it was being built. I’ve been all over this town. My parents got married here and so did I. It looks like my son will be married here too. I’ve met all kinds of people in Cow Town.

I came back here last year and was bustling around trying to make ends meet, as is my lot. I was working in the north east and living in the west end by the river. I was taking the C-train most of the time. That’s the Light Rail Transit in Calgary.

Nevertheless, I get home and realize I’ve lost my wallet. Do you have any idea what a major hassle it is to lose your wallet? Most of you probably do. It’s not the loss of money; it’s the loss of the ID. It takes months to get your driver’s license, health card, bank card; hell, even your library card requires a piece of mail with your address on in so that takes a while to come through. And of course every wallet has bits of pieces of paper and stuff that is real important information you will never get again. Let’s face it people, losing your wallet is a hell of a drag.

So I call the bank and cancel my bank card. I get Visa to shut down. I cal the police and there was a fairly helpful officer on the line who lodges all the info he can, including driver’s license, etc. It looks like my pocket was maybe picked or something. OK, that’s all done as evening comes to a close and I have no idea what to do next.

Morning comes and I find a crumpled up bus ticket rummaging in my coat. At least I can get downtown to the bank and maybe hunt around a little.

Downtown I drop into the Bay and security looks about and reports they haven’t seen my wallet. I tried a couple of coffee shops but to no avail. This sucker is lost.

As a last resort I cross Seventh Avenue into Calgary Transit’s office and ask at the desk if a wallet has been handed in.

“What’s the name?” says the clerk.

“Bruce Rout,” I answer and he punches the name into his terminal at the counter.

“We got it,” he says and heads off into the back. I can’t believe my good luck.

He returns and hands my wallet to me. “Open it and give me a piece of picture ID,” he says.

I open my wallet to take out my driver’s license and there, staring me in the face, is a brand spanking new monthly transit pass that I had just bought. It was totally transferable. Whoever found it could easily have taken it. I hand the desk clerk my license and check the inside pocket of the wallet. Sure enough, there’s a $5 bill in there, right where I left it. That was all the money plus a $75 bus pass. All ID was intact.

I showed the clerk. ”There’s my bus pass and all my money,” I said.

“You’re pretty lucky,” he said.

I took back my license and headed out. First thing I did then was call the cop shop and cancel the report on the lost wallet. They were stunned and very happy to hear there were still honest people in enough abundance that my wallet could be found intact including everything valuable.

This is a good town. I had lost my wallet at the transit station in the middle of the seedy part of town. They have all types there. When I say seedy, I mean real seedy. Whoever picked up my wallet probably never even opened it. Then again, they probably did open it to check who it belonged to. They probably saw the transit pass and the money and handed it in to the transit lost and found without even thinking of being dishonest.

It reminded me of the time when red China was first opened up to the west as a result of Nixon’s visit. One of the comments there was that Chinese people were so honest you could lose your wallet with money in it and it would be handed in to the authorities completely intact. You don’t need to go to China to find honest people. They’re right here. They’re all around us.

As I went through the rest of my day I could only chuckle intermittently. That’s because that’s Calgary. That’s what this city is like. This is a good town and these are good people. They work hard and they are basically honest.

Like I say, this is a good town.