Waiting. It's the waiting game.
We have played it for years.
Waiting for decisions. Will "Bil", my autistic brother in law, be accepted for Medicaid, a joint state/local medical program that is the gateway to various services that will help him?
The days pass.
He's rejected. We reapply. Another wait.
Finally, good news.
Now that Bil's been accepted for Medicaid: we apply for a program where Bil can be worked with one on one. But there's nobody who wants to work with Bil. These programs find it hard to find workers. It pays so little, in the high cost of living area where Bil lives at the.
We wait, and wait, and they never find anyone.
Years pass. More waiting. More waiting lists. Waiting lists for housing, a waiting list that is discontinued, and then there is no more waiting list. And then, there is a list again. Who knows what is going on?
Will my husband we named as guardian for Bil, who never has had a guardian until now? (yes, but that also put additional burdens on my husband, Bil's oldest brother. It takes months to gather what is needed. Finally, the lawyer puts in the application. Another wait. And what happens if something happens to Bil's elderly mother, in the meantime?
There is a hearing. The application is accepted. But then there is more to wait for. There always is.
We wait and wait and wait, as the days of our lives tick away.
And now, the United States Senate considers legislation that will cut programs that benefit Bil, and others like him. We can protest, but, more than that, we must wait, and wait still again.
“Sometimes waiting is the hardest thing of all.” - Luanne Rice
Blogging for #FridayReflections,