Parker says the intent was never to send Joshua away immediately, but to explore the prospect as a long-term solution to a difficult family situation. "I was looking at her needs, at Joshua's needs, at Eddie's needs." Described by colleagues as unusually compassionate, Parker knew from his previous work with disabled kids that their families sometimes turned to group homes, particularly as the kids reached the typical age of independent living. Yet his notes in the log suggest that he and others grew to see such a placement as a more immediate solution to a case that otherwise seemed unsolvable.
Parker doesn't deny that the suggestion was bound up with the objectives of welfare reform. He says, "The program requirements are there, and we're required to look at all angles."
Bootsy Holler
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This never-ending quest is frustrating for those whose main concern is Joshua. "If we didn't have to cope with the limit of Dolores' welfare payments, we probably wouldn't be focusing on day care [for Joshua]," says Barbara Kleine, the Children's psychiatric case manager. "We would let Dolores stay home and take care of him—because she does it better than anybody else—and that would be a good outcome."
GIVEN THE LESSONS learned in administering welfare reform over the past four years, will the system change? Is it now prepared to accept that some people, if only a small subset, shouldn't be forced into a model that doesn't fit their circumstances? The futile attempt to do so with Dolores makes a strong case for a different approach.
As state officials contemplate what to do with those whose time is running out on welfare, it seems likely that they will adopt some measure of leniency. A recent DSHS draft proposal outlines three- to 12-month extensions for people facing carefully defined problems. An inability to find care for a disabled child such as Joshua, for instance, would qualify a welfare recipient for a three-month extension.
That isn't long for a profound problem. Ken Miller, Gov. Gary Locke's top welfare advisor, indicates that the governor is weighing permanent exemptions for a subset of people— in particular, the disabled, those with disabled children, and older grandparents taking care of their grandchildren. Locke wanted to exempt this group when the state was crafting rules on welfare reform, but it wasn't politically feasible.
By current law, Locke has the power to determine policy on extensions and exemptions. The Legislature, however, will get a chance to tinker with the law in January, and it is a wild card. Conservative state Sen. Harold Hochstatter recently told The Seattle Times that his Eastern Washington constituents probably wouldn't want to give those facing the deadline another "red cent."
Even if Dolores and others like her get permanent exemptions, they might never see the end of three-month reviews, documentation, and DSHS visits. "Our ultimate goal is still to get the parent to be as self-sufficient as they can be," says DSHS's Pat Smith. "This is no longer an entitlement program."
In any case, Dolores, among others, will be cut off from welfare when Joshua turns 18 because benefits are only for those with children who are minors. Welfare staffers say that such a prospect compels them even more to get these people into the working world.
"The thing is, we're just going to keep putting things on the table," says social worker Parker. "We're going to keep reviewing, with the understanding that it will happen in the near future."
But Dolores, for her part, is shaped by an existence that forces her to live intensively focused on the present: "They keep telling me, 'You got to think about your future.' I say, 'Yes, that's true—but what about Joshua?'"
nshapiro@seattleweekly.com
