For reasons I still can’t grasp, Conway — a brain-damaged burn victim with seven fingers — never could qualify for disability. Caroline was managing their day-to-day lives while working a low-wage job as a medical courier, picking up extra shifts when she could to offset Conway’s ongoing medical and legal expenses. The family pitched in for housing and other expenses. “No matter what happens, I’ll still be there for Conway,” Caroline said. “Even if it kills me.” She knows that without her constant care, Conway would either return to prison, get himself killed, or both. “I mean, if I leave, I might as well take a gun and shoot him.” But she also struggles daily with the injustice of the situation foisted upon her: “This is my prison sentence.”
Scientists Warn of A “Friendship Recession” — I’m Part of It
I’m thirsty for friends. It’s embarrassing. I’m far too old to be courting acquaintances like some middle school girl at Claire’s, harassing...