After notifying the housing association of Peter’s death on 31st March 2025, I was told that someone would be in contact. Apart from reassuring the kids that I would do everything in my power to support my sister in fighting to stay in their home, I made no promises. I was careful but honest as there were no guarantees, but I was clear that we would not give up.
After the funeral, Jane reached out again. She needed to understand the next steps and, more importantly, she needed clarity so she could be clear with the kids. Stability begins with honesty, and she was desperate not to create further uncertainty for them.
One day, Jane received a call from a housing officer who informed her that she was at the house. No appointment had been made, and at the time Jane had gone to visit a family member while the kids were at school. Following this, a meeting was arranged for Jane to attend the housing office.
At that meeting, Jane was completely open. She disclosed her medical condition, her finances, and her circumstances in full. She was told the case would need to go to a discretionary panel for a decision and was advised what evidence would be required to support her application. She was also told they would be in contact.
I remember Jane telling me how down to earth and compassionate the appointed housing officer seemed. She felt reassured and hopeful after being told that everything possible would be done to help.
Jane took this seriously.
Despite still being in shock, grieving, managing a long-term neurological condition, and trying to remain present for her kids, she worked tirelessly to gather everything requested. This was a huge ask for someone in her position, but she was determined. With support, she made this her priority.
She obtained doctors’ letters, school letters, and every piece of evidence she could. When a couple of weeks passed without any contact from the housing officer, she reached out. She had both a work email address and a mobile number. She sent emails. She left voicemails, following the instructions given. She waited.
No response came.
Emails went unanswered. Calls were not returned. Promised updates never arrived.
Then Jane received a call from Social Services, advising her that they had been informed a notice to leave had been issued to the property. This is standard safeguarding procedure when children may be at risk of eviction. But no such notice had been served.
Jane was frightened and confused. She didn’t understand what was happening, or why no one would get back to her. Instead of reassurance and support, she was met with silence a disabled, vulnerable adult left to navigate fear alone.
She began to doubt herself. She questioned whether she had misunderstood something. Whether she had done enough. Whether she had said the wrong thing. The lack of communication fed a growing sense of failure not because she wasn’t trying, but because she was navigating a system with no guidance and no feedback.
Jane tried harder.
She started making multiple calls a day. She rang the main office number and was repeatedly told messages would be passed on and that she would receive a call back. She never did.
She pushed herself because she believed that if she just did a little more, it would be enough to secure stability for her kids.
Eventually, confused and fearful that she could not manage this alone, Jane made the decision to give consent for me to speak on her behalf. This was my suggestion, as I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been able to reach anyone? That decision did not come from disengagement or lack of care. It came from fear of letting her kids down and recognising she needed support.
What Jane did not know at the time was that during a critical five-week period, the housing officer handling her case was signed off sick. There appeared to be no system in place to manage the caseload or communications in her absence. The work mobile was switched off at home. No out-of-office was applied. No one picked up the case. Office staff were unaware.
The emotional toll was immense. The silence made her feel invisible, unheard, and unsupported just like so many other systems meant to protect her. She internalised the lack of response as personal failure, when in reality she had done everything asked of her and more.
I couldn’t help but think about other vulnerable adults and parents without support networks or resources. About the harm caused to people already struggling. About how many may quietly break under the same silence.
Jane never disengaged.
She never stopped trying.
She never stopped fighting for her kids.
This is not about blame.
It is about acknowledging how systemic failures can devastate vulnerable people especially those already dealing with grief, illness, and fear of losing their home.
Jane deserved clarity, compassion, and support.
So do others in similar positions.
This story matters because it shows our systems are failing the very people it is meant to protect (To be clear this is my opinion only).