It’s Friday, Jul 16, 2021 9:30 p.m. in our hotel room, downtown San Francisco. Andrea and I flew here to visit my sister, Sheryl Kynard. Yes, she is alive, but not well. It had been close to 50 years since I’ve seen or heard from Sheryl and assumed she was dead.
Two weeks ago, I received a phone call from a researcher from a governmental entity in San Francisco who was tasked with doing a national family search required prior to seeking public guardianship. Highly skeptical, I believed I was being phished and pumped for information designed to somehow steal my identity. I gave carefully guarded one-word answers while listening for how much THEY know. Rather quickly, enough detail from the caller resulted in my expanding my responses. She’s ALIVE??! Hmmm, public guardianship? Conservatorship? My curiosity piqued when I was told I could get more information from a social worker assigned to her case. Privacy restrictions were given by the caller for not revealing answers to all I wanted to know.
Still skeptical, I decided to research all I could find on the caller, a 54-year-old who I found out was calling from her home address, located just down the street from a 7-11 and who has a close relative by the name of Judy. I was ready to ruin her day if I discovered this call was not genuine. A couple of days later, I received a voicemail message from a social worker at a facility I quickly vetted. I called her back and after we both verified who we were actually speaking with, I sat in amazement with what she had to say. Still, she could not answer the meatier questions inviting me to a conference call with the team of caregivers, psych, medical, nutrition, therapist, etc. for their quarterly phone update.
The call came in and probably 8 people introduced themselves to me with their name and position while the social worker introduced me to the team as the brother of resident, Sheryl Kynard. Each one of the specialists recited their report on the status of resident Kynard. The longest report came from the primary care physician who took so long because of all the maladies Sheryl has, among which was the reason public guardianship was considered. After completion of their exhaustive verbal report, one of their first questions was would I be willing to act as medical conservator to Sheryl. WHAT? Wait a minute! How long has she been there? 12 years?! Why hasn’t anyone contacted me prior to this?! She could make decisions for her care and no one knew of you before the mandated search. Of course I’m over simplifying their responses, but no information they could give would begin to fill the gap of close to 50 years of zero communication.
Okay, I know where she is, I know she ain’t doing well, what do I do? After all, over 50 years ago, her mental illness and actions took a toll on my mother, the sordid details I learned after returning from a Naval tour in Vietnam. I was poised for retribution, regardless of the mental illness. Fast-forward this many years, my distaste for her softened as I became relaxed in the assumption of her death. Now suddenly I am being asked to do for her benefit as one would do for a dear loved one. Quandary? No, not really, but not for the reason you might think. Again, my curiosity almost demanded that I respond in such a way where I could get more information as to what has been going on with her for almost 50 years?!
Andrea and I Ubered from the airport and entered the massive facility. After security checks and credentialing, we found our way to South 5 unit and signed in with the unit station. We were led to Sheryl’s room, a two-patient room separated by a floor-to-ceiling curtain. I turned to see a rotund, very pale woman sitting up in her hospital bed. No, I did NOT recognize her as being anyone I know. I calmly greeted her, briefly lowering my Covid mask to allow my entire face to be visible. I began asking questions to determine where her head was and to prove I was talking with Sheryl Kynard. If she was an imposter, she was well versed in Sheryl Kynard details. Her responses were one and two words and seemingly filled with doubt of who she was speaking with! She repeatedly stated, “…you are not my brother.” I showed her old photos of our family, which included her and I asked do you recognize anyone in this photo, naming each person for her. No, she said to everyone. I told her I would leave the photo with her, she said “I don’t want it, take it with you.” While Andrea was trying to engage her in conversation, I began to slowly walk around the foot of the bed to capture a different angle of this unfamiliar person to burn an image into my mind’s eye. The piercing stare as I moved brought me back to my last encounter with Sheryl, not a pleasant time.
As Sheryl tired of my questions and insistence on siblingship, I, too, said to myself, I now know all I need to know. No need to do this again. Andrea feels strongly that we should visit her tomorrow, Saturday, before returning to Los Angeles on an evening flight. We shall see what the morning brings.
It’s Saturday evening and we’re at San Francisco Airport waiting to board our flight back to Los Angeles. This morning, after a night of reflection, prayer, and replay of yesterday’s experience, we chose to have a late brunch and strolled through the San Francisco Civic Center enjoying ourselves before boarding BART for a ride to the airport. I don’t anticipate a return to SF for this purpose and I have genuine comfort in that decision. I will continue my life knowing I may receive a phone call or two from the facility asking for direction, I will pause and again press PLAY. Thank you for enduring this interruption.
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