[”Indeed. There are old people and there are reckless people, but very few old, reckless people.”
Well said.]
My oldest sister was an alcoholic. By the time she was 28, she'd been in and out of alcohol rehab, and was eventually institutionalized within a state psychiatric center. The State tried to place her in a home, but my sister's personality was not conducive to that type of living arrangement, and she was sent back to the psychiatric center. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and dementia caused by alcohol consumption. When she reached a certain age, they moved her to an adult assisted living home. During her years at those homes, she would act out, and be sent to a psychiatric ward in the city hospital for a week for evaluation. To her it was a vacation, because she had one-on-one catering service, getting the attention she wanted. I always figured that she probably knew that if she got into trouble at the home, that she'd be sent outside for a week, and that was what she wanted.
She remained in an adult home until she passed away in 2014. She was 74 years old. And it's likely she wouldn't have lived that long had she been left out on the street. The blessing was that she'd never married or had children, so she didn't have anyone who depended on her. I lived about 4 hours away from where she was, and I used to visit her, along with my second-oldest sister, and my sister-in-law (brother's widow) as often as I could. We'd take her out to lunch and then take her shopping. She was the last of my siblings to go. I was the baby of the family, and will be 77 in August. My only goal in life now is not to outlive my two sons.