Maria was one of the many unsung heroines, the legion of home healthcare aids who were sent by agencies to care for those who were very disabled and often in the last stages of the illness. These women and men spent a set number of hours each day with their patient and often became like surrogate family. In the last months of a patient’s life the caregiver became their most important support, often seeing them right through to the end. When they took on a new patient caregivers knew that they might become close with them and would, almost inevitably, lose them quite soon. They have seen a lot and are surprised by little.

But, as Maria showed, they can still be angered by what they see. She was a quiet, gentle Latina who obviously cared a lot for Kevin. She had been with him for several weeks already, first in his own apartment and now at his parent’s house. She seemed prepared to see him through to the end, as he had deteriorated badly. In his mid-thirties, Kevin was very thin and spent most of the day sleeping on the couch of his parent’s living room. He was so weak that, when I asked my questions he deferred to Maria. In fact, he apparently deferred on most of the details of his life; she was his invaluable companion, nurse and confidante.

During my visit he became animated on only one subject, the seemingly innocuous detail of his correct address. He insisted that he was staying with his parents only temporarily and that we were to use his own apartment as his permanent address. He would let us know when he moved back home so we could switch the food delivery there. I assured him that was no problem and he said we would hear from him soon.

The effort of making this point so forcefully seemed to have drained all his energy and he lay back and closed his eyes. I said I could finish up my questions with Maria, leaned over, gave him a brief hug and said goodbye. Maria motioned me outside.

We went out onto the patio overlooking the small, parched back garden. The house was a modest, anonymous bungalow undistinguishable from the neighboring houses in this nondescript area of the San Fernando Valley. Kevin’s apartment was over the hill in West Hollywood, where his friends and neighbors probably thought condescendingly of this part of the valley – if they thought of it at all.

Maria poured two glasses of cranberry juice from an outside refrigerator and we sat at a dusty patio table. She sipped her juice and I busied my self with my notes. 

“He’s never going back”.

Maria seemed to be talking to herself. I looked up as she gazed vaguely back in the direction of the living room.

“Excuse me?”

“Kevin. He’s not going back. He won’t leave here.”

“Oh, his apartment, you mean. Well, I must say I wondered when he was speaking. He seems so far gone.”

“Oh sure.” Maria nodded. “He just has a few weeks.”

“But he did make such a point that he was going back home.”

“It’s very important for him. Home, that’s the point. He has to believe that his apartment is still there waiting for him and that he’s going back.”

“Yes,” I said, “but you think he really knows the truth?”

“Not really. But whether he does or not, that’s not the point. He clings on to the thought of his own place, and going back there. That’s where his life is. That’s where life is. It’s the most important thing for him right now.”

“Still, he’s got his family here with him. That must be some help.”

“Huh!” Her face clouded over, the kindness and gentleness consumed by something much harder.

“They’re difficult, uh?”

“Huh! They’re the ones who insisted he leave his apartment and move in here. He was took weak to fight. I could have taken care of him.”

“Does the family support his notion that he’s going back.”

“Not exactly,” she almost spat out. “Oh they know how he feels about it but, well, you see that garage?”

She pointed to the old paint-peeling building at the end of the garden.

“That’s where most of his furniture is.”

“How come?”

“I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d seen it all. A few days ago we were in the living room. He was on the couch, very weak and sleepy, a bit out of it, worrying about his house plants. And the family all came in. They had been to his apartment and were bringing back stuff from there. Small things, lamps, pictures, TV and so on, and the big stuff – a couch that took three of them to carry, a table and chairs. For half an hour they paraded it all through the living room and out to the garage. He just lay back and watched. Didn’t say anything. But I think he died a bit right there.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, not to him nor the family. I’m just the caregiver. Family comes first in these situations.”

“Perhaps they didn’t really approve of his living over there in the first place.”

“You can say that again.  They certainly didn’t approve of his lifestyle. He says they think that’s what got him into this mess. But he wants to die where he went to live – in West Hollywood. What can I say? Family comes first.”

Her mouth hardened and I could see she wanted to go back inside to Kevin. I gave her a hug, said goodbye and she sat down beside the couch.

I let myself out and, as I walked to the street, Kevin’s parents were getting out of their car. I went up and introduced myself. They were polite, gray kind of people, the type who would always do what they thought was for the best. As I spoke to them I realized they had the same kind of determination as their son. It just went in a different direction. His mother shook my hand.

“Thank you for coming. We’ll probably only need your service for a few days until we’re all settled here, then we can take over.”

“Well, just let us know.”

 “Were you able to get all the information you wanted?” his mother asked. “I know he doesn’t say very much.”

“I did fine, thank you. Maria was able to answer most of my questions.”

“Yes, we’re very grateful to Maria, she was very helpful when he lived alone. But we probably won’t be seeing much more of her. We’ve told the agency that Kevin doesn’t need her any more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite sure. He’ll be well taken care of now. After all, he’s back with his family now. He’s back home.”