A Note to Our Readers: David and Ben are fictionalized characters representing families we serve. While this specific story is fictionalized to protect the anonymity of our guests, every detail reflects real patterns we see: aging caregivers with declining health, adult children living with disabilities, fixed incomes crushed by rising costs, and the impossible math of trying to survive on disability payments. This story is happening right now to real families in our community.
David is 67 years old.
At an age when most of his peers are enjoying retirement, David is his son’s full-time caregiver.
Ben is 25. Several years ago, he incurred a traumatic brain injury. The specifics of how it happened matter less than what followed: Ben’s life changed entirely. He needs structure, routine, and predictability. When his environment shifts unexpectedly, it can take hours, sometimes days, for him to regain his sense of peace.
David and Ben lived in an apartment for three years, then the complex was sold to a property management company. The apartment wasn’t fancy, a modest two-bedroom that suited Ben’s needs perfectly. Ben knew every corner; he’d grown up there and felt safe there. He had his routines, morning coffee at the kitchen table by the window. Afternoon walks around the same block. Evening TV in his room, door cracked open so David could hear if he needed anything.
Then the rent increases started shortly after the sale of the complex went through.
First, $50 a month. Then $75. Then $120.
David’s income is fixed: his Social Security check and Ben’s disability payments. Together, they bring in $2,100 a month.
The rent climbed to $1,400.
Then $1,550.
Then $2,000.
David did the math over and over, as if the numbers would change. They never did.
After the first rent increase, the remaining balance was incredibly tight. After rent, they had $450 left for everything else: utilities, food, Ben’s medications, transportation, clothing, and David’s own medical expenses as his mobility declined.
It wasn’t enough, and the situation escalated quickly.
David tried to go back to work. At 67, with knees that barely supported him and a back that screamed every time he bent down, he took a part-time job stocking shelves at a grocery store. He lasted six weeks before his body gave out.
This is the reality for thousands of aging caregivers: disability payments don’t even begin to cover the actual cost of living, let alone caring for a dependent. Affordable housing has become a fantasy for so many in our community.
Three months ago, David and Ben were evicted.
The Motel
Left with no other options, they moved into a motel. $275 a week, paid every Friday. No lease. No deposit.
The motel was chaos.
Doors slamming at all hours. Shouting from neighboring rooms. Hallways that smelled like smoke and stale food. Sirens outside every night.
For Ben, it was sensory overload.
He couldn’t establish routines because nothing was predictable; life changed daily at the motel. He couldn’t settle because the environment was constantly shifting. He stopped sleeping through the night. He became more anxious, more withdrawn.
David watched his son unravel and felt powerless. He kept the room as consistent as possible, but it wasn’t enough. Same breakfast every morning. Same walking route around the parking lot. But you can’t create stability in a place designed for temporary living.
After six weeks, David knew: this wasn’t sustainable.
Ben was getting worse, not better. And David was draining what little savings he had at $275 per week, $1,100 per month for a single room, which was making his son’s condition deteriorate.
The Shelter
When David and Ben arrived at our shelter, we knew immediately: this wasn’t going to be easy.
Emergency shelters are not designed for people like Ben. They’re loud. Crowded. Unpredictable.
Every night, guests are assigned mats based on availability. Tonight, David and Ben might be near the back corner. Tomorrow, they could be in the middle of the room. The next night, near the door.
For most guests, this is an inconvenience. For Ben, it’s disorienting. Sometimes distressing. He needs to know where he’ll be. He needs the same spot, the same spatial relationship to his surroundings. When that changes nightly, he struggles to process it.
Some nights, Ben can’t settle. He paces. He gets agitated. David stays up with him, soothing him, exhausted himself, but unable to rest until his son does.
What We’re Building Toward
Here’s what David and Ben are doing while they’re with us:
Saving money.
By not paying $1,100 a month to the motel, David is finally able to save. Every dollar that isn’t going to rent is going into an account. In three months, he’ll have enough for a security deposit on an apartment.
Connecting to services.
Our case manager is working with David to navigate the complex web of supports for caregivers and adults with disabilities:
- Long-term care coordination
- Medicaid waivers for home and community-based services
- Respite care so David can have breaks.
- Accessible housing programs
- Benefits counseling to maximize what they’re eligible for
David didn’t even know most of these services existed. He’s been doing this alone for years, burning himself out, with no roadmap.
Building a plan for stability.
David is 67. His mobility is declining. He won’t be able to care for Ben alone forever.
We’re helping him think long-term: What happens in five years? Ten? What supports does Ben need to live as independently as possible? What does sustainable caregiving look like?
For the first time in months, David has hope because he has a pathway. A plan. People in his corner who understand that disability payments don’t cover reality, that aging caregivers need support, and that families like his deserve more than crisis management.
The Numbers That Don’t Add Up
David and Ben’s story represents a systemic crisis.
Families with children are the fastest-growing segment of the homeless population in the United States, accounting for 40-50% of people experiencing homelessness. However, hidden within that statistic are families like David and Ben’s: adult children with disabilities and their aging caregivers, pushed out by costs they can’t control.
The average monthly Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) payment in 2024 was $1,537. Supplemental Security Income (SSI) averaged $698 per month. For many recipients, these payments represent their only income.
In not a single U.S. state can someone earning minimum wage or relying on disability payments afford a modest two-bedroom apartment. The math is simple, and it’s devastating:
Ben’s disability payments: $698/month David’s Social Security: $1,402/month Total monthly income: $2,100
Rent for a two-bedroom ground-floor apartment in our area: $1,400-$1,700/month.
That leaves $400-$700 for:
- Utilities
- Food
- Medications
- Medical copays
- Transportation
- Clothing
- Any emergency
There’s no room for error. One bill rises. One medical crisis. One rent increase.
And families like David and Ben’s fall through the cracks.
What Makes It More Difficult
Caring for an adult child with a disability is expensive in ways disability payments don’t account for:
- Special dietary needs
- Adaptive equipment
- Transportation to medical appointments and therapies
- Higher utility costs (medical equipment, temperature control needs)
- Professional care support
- Specialized clothing or supplies
And then there’s the invisible cost: David can’t work full-time because Ben needs him. At 67, with his own declining health, he must carefully balance his son’s needs and their financial survival.
Aging caregivers of adult children with disabilities are among the most vulnerable, most isolated, and most underserved populations experiencing homelessness.
Why We Exist
In 2024, 4% of our shelter guests were children. But that number doesn’t capture families like David and Ben’s, an aging father and his adult son, both vulnerable in different ways.
When we talk about unhoused families, we have to expand our definition. Family isn’t just parents with young kids. It’s aging caregivers with adult disabled children. It’s siblings raising siblings. It’s grandparents raising grandchildren.
These families love and care for their dependents and simply want stable housing for them.
These unhoused families need case management that understands the complexity of their situations. They need connections to services they don’t even know exist. They need time to save money and plan for sustainable futures. They need someone to say: “You’re not alone. We’re going to figure this out together.”
David and Ben have been with us for five weeks now.
It hasn’t been perfect. Ben still struggles with the rotating sleeping arrangements. Some nights are more complicated than others.
But David is saving money. He’s connected to services. He’s sleeping better knowing he has support.
Last week, he told our case manager, “For the first time in two years, I don’t feel like I’m drowning alone.”
That’s why we do this.
How You Can Help
David and Ben are representative characters, but the families they represent are real.
Right now, there are aging caregivers trying to support adult children with disabilities on incomes that don’t cover the cost of living. Families are being priced out of housing because disability payments haven’t kept pace with rent.
Your donation provides what families like David and Ben’s desperately need:
- Emergency shelter so they stop draining resources on unsustainable motels.
- Case management that connects them to needed services, housing programs, and long-term supports
- Time and space to save money for permanent housing.
- Advocacy and navigation through complex systems; they can’t navigate alone.
This holiday season, we ask for your support to make David and Benjamin’s wish come true: stable, sustainable housing.
Every donation expands our capacity to serve families who don’t fit the traditional unhoused shelter model but desperately need help.
