Recently a woman living through her last weeks of HIV moved into the House.  Her T-cell count was 1.  Veronica had lived the last few months in the Psychiatric Health Facility.  Now she was dying.  Veronica's life had been hard.  Not only was she ending many years of HIV, but she had also a long life story of addiction and serious mental health issues.

But once again, it was Veronica herself who spoke with great clarity and nobility about dying well and living well.

On the day she moved in, nervous and concerned about how the others would like her, Veronica extended her hand quietly to the first staff person to whom she was introduced.  "I respond really well to kindness," she said simply.

On August 11th 2004, after being released from a six year term in Chowchilla State Prison for sales of narcotics, I was fortunate enough to be allowed to parole to Sarah House. Mind you Debbie Mcquade, Residential House Manager, wrote to me regularly reassuring me I would have a bed upon my release. So, unlike most people in prison, I knew I had somewhere safe to parole to. Had it not been for the perseverance of Debbie Mcquade, I would have been homeless in Santa Barbara, living with HIV, struggling desperately to survive and successfully complete parole.

...Continued

For eight years, Chuck was an estate manager for a large piece of property on Montecito. When he became too weak to carry on, he moved into Sarah House for hospice care. For years, he had pursued Thrift Store treasures. Now from the corner of his bedroom, he sorted through his many collections: 1940’s appliances, colorful dishes, and albums of vintage properties. Each had a story and he was delighted in the telling of it.

As the time of his death drew near, his family arrived from the East Coast. Daily they would sit in our living room, surrounding Chuck “holding court” from an enormous overstuffed chair. Often his mother and sister would sit with one of the staff in the small office, pouring out their grief as they faced the inevitable loss of their son and brother.

Alison moved into Sarah House looking for safety. A transsexual person, HIV+, she had struggled for years to come to terms with her complicated biology. She had also endured daily disdain and unkindness from people who met her.

Alison’s plight was very heart wrenching. Returning from being married under the new San Francisco law including gays, lesbians and transsexual. Her husband was killed by a drunken driver. She sustained multiple injuries including eight broken ribs.

Grieving and ill, not only from the AIDS virus but the effects of the accident, Alison moved to Sarah House until her physical and emotional health stabilized. All the residents and staff immediately embraced her. Indeed, it was gratifying to overhear her first night’s call to her mother. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I was really scared when I got here, but these are the nicest people I have ever met, I’m going to be alright.”

In 1997, Brad’s family moved him to Sarah House in order that we might care for him in the last months before his death. Thankfully, that was not to be.

We fed him morning, noon and night. We got him an old computer, which became an enormous source of satisfaction. We drove him to dozens of doctor appointments so that his medication therapies could be effectively refined. Within a year, his T-Cell number had gone from 2 to 122. A few years and seventy pounds after that, he moved into one of our Scattered Site apartments, thrilled to be on his own and independent once again.

In early 2004, following a diagnosis of colon cancer, Brad moved back into his old bedroom in our front wing. It was a heart-wrenching return to a place that had once been “home.” Quickly, we all became experts on chemotherapy and complex medical regimens. Five times weekly, we drove him to Santa Barbara’s outstanding Cancer Center for radiation. Although the early prognosis was grim, we never allowed Brad to give up, insisting that hope could only help.