He spent his final decades alone, a tenant—“resident” is the preferred term—in a low-income seniors’ and disabled persons’ rent-subsidized housing project. He was, in fact, all three: low-income, elderly, disabled. A paid “caregiver” jabbed, pushed and yelled at him. The apartment, a small studio, reeked. While inventorying his possessions during one of his hospital stays, she was heard to comment to a compeer, “We can sell this.” She had his pin number and had gotten her name onto his bank account. Asked why he didn’t request a different caregiver, he responded “I’m afraid.” No eccentric recluse, he wanted to be out and about. On weekends, when no building staff were on the premises, he would emerge from his cell and, leaning on his walker, navigate the corridor back and forth as many times as he possibly could.
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