Jamie

Smells have always brought up strong memories for me. The smell of the cologne worn by a previous boy friend brings me back to that jean jacket I borrowed from him. The smell of lavender reminds me of that friend I worked with many years ago who always did everything she could in that thankless job. The smell of chocolate chip cookies quickly makes me think of my father who bakes them so wonderfully.

There are also smells that bring me around to memories that aren’t so pleasant. The smell of a farm will always remind me of a trip I took with my grandmother to Iowa where I saw a mommy pig accidentally squish her baby. A certain kind of lotion that I’ll catch a whiff of brings me right back to my great grandmother’s room where I was asked to rub her feet.

The scent of a group home never really occurred to me until I went to visit my brother Jamie at his new residence. I’m not sure why they all smell the same, but they do. I’ve worked in a number of group homes all through college and each one smelled like all of the others. They were not dirty… I knew this for certain because one of my duties was to clean the place. I cooked, cleaned and took care of the people who lived there. In some cases, I was the only family they had.

Jamie moved into a behavioral group home with other men his age or older. I spoke with my parents when this decision was made, and from my far away home I confirmed that it was the right thing to do. After that, I didn’t think about it again until we went home for the holidays.

When we walked in the house the smell hit me. I knew that smell. I knew it as a staff worker though, not as a family member. The staff was running around putting clothes on Jamie who had been napping. He didn’t know what was going on. He looked around and upon seeing Mom and Dad he thought it was time to go home. Mom had to verbally and physically take her coat off, “Look Jamie, I’m taking my coat off.” Dad sat quietly at the kitchen table and asked someone to find a puzzle for him to do with Jamie.

We had come during a staffing transition. As the old staff left they hugged the men in the house, the new staff did the same. The alarm on the front door went off as the door opened and closed for all the comings and goings. I’ve worked in a home much like this one. I never thought what it must be like for the families that enter to visit their loved ones. The truth of the matter is that not many families do come visit people in these kinds of group homes.

I walked into my brother’s room and was shocked at the bareness. The walls were bare – no pictures, no window frame. There was only a bed and a closet with no door. Jamie has some behavioral issues that cause him to occasionally become very aggressive. He is a strong man and this aggression was becoming dangerous to the family. In this state he will destroy anything in his path, so I looked at his room and fully understood. The group home staff was forced to have it this way because he can’t keep things up on the walls. As a sister, however, I looked at that room and became so sad.

Jamie was living in a home that was not his home. Not the home he came to when he was the small little boy whose parents did not want him because he had Down’s syndrome. Not the home that accepted and loved him even when we found out that he also was autistic.

I looked into Jamie’s eyes and said hello. He looked at me with his tongue out and tiled his head and grunted. That hello was good enough for me. My eyes started to water. Mom put Jamie’s head in her hands and they touched foreheads. Dad pulled him over to him and hugged him. I stood in the dining room like a stranger watching my brother. As I looked around the house one more time I knew that I had to leave before I started crying. My husband caught my eyes and he knew what was coming. I didn’t need to say anything to him - I just left. The door alarm announced my departure.

Outside I smelled fresh rain, dirt and worms - also familiar scents. My emotions were all over the place. One of the staff members came to the van to check on me, to assure me that my brother is loved. I had no doubt of that, we love him dearly and my parents always visit at least once a week. It was just so hard for me to see him somewhere other than my parent’s house – his home.

I know that from time to time, my dad makes his famous chocolate chip cookies and takes them over to Jamie’s new group home. I know that the smell of these cookies must take Jamie back in some way to the home where we loved him from the very first second, when I scooped his tiny body up and he stuck his tongue out and grunted at me… his way of saying “hello”.