The letter from the Social Security Administration arrived from Baltimore and landed on our kitchen counter like the Hindenburg. No flames, but it definitely crashlanded. We were the ones left muttering, “Oh, the humanity …’’
It was titled “Notice of Overpayment’’ and in straightforward language it detailed how Kathleen B. Holleran’s benefits had been overpaid by $12,352.10 over the past 12 years.
“Geez, Jim,’’ my wife Mary gasped, “you gotta get downtown tomorrow and straighten this out. She doesn’t have that kind of money. They have screwed this all up.’’
This bureaucratic nightmare crashed right into our laps.
This tale of misfortune began in January 2023. Katie likens herself as a Spice Girl, not Sporty, Baby, Scary, Ginger or Posh, but an hourly laborer who grinds, bottles and packages Salute Seasonings in a supported workshop. She was earning about $7.50 an hour, based on her productivity.
The government, aiming for a more inclusive work environment, dictated that all the individuals with developmental challenges and veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder should earn the same amount, $14.20 per hour. One of the tradeoffs was that while Katie’s pay almost doubled, the free transportation to work ended. So she paid a subsidized bus service.
Her employer advised us that the higher wages wouldn’t affect the Social Security supplemental aid that allowed her to live independently with a roommate, a remarkable achievement for a young woman with Down syndrome.
Katie’s life was going swimmingly until this January when a letter arrived from Social Security.
“We have decided that your disability has ended and that you are not entitled to payments beginning May 2023,’’ it stated.
Whoa! The 6-pound, 4-ounce peanut that we greeted in November 1985, the innocent infant we prayed over, parented and held accountable like any other child, the little princess who marched into her first Special Olympics parade of athletes and left us in tears at age 5, the gymnast, basketball player, and snowshoe competitor we have seen compete over a hundred times, the young lady whose medals clink when she walks into a diner or ice cream stand after each trip to the podium no longer has a disability?
We were stunned. Either the Lord is working for the SSA or they have some powerful doctors. More likely some desk jockey wasn’t doing his/her job.
This prompted my first trip to the SSA office. When the clerk scanned the paperwork and looked at Katie and me, she looked puzzled. She gave us the proper paperwork to appeal the decision and we left. We submitted the packet the next day.
Before we received a reply, the $12,352.10 letter arrived. So we headed back to Social Security. Although I’m Katie’s legal guardian, nothing moves unless she is present for an appointment. I pulled her out of work and we headed to the SSA office.
The first order of business was to go through a metal detector. Empty your pockets into a bin. Belts, hats and jackets off. Examine the contents of her purse. Then put everything back on. Enter the austere waiting room.
We stopped at the kiosk, entered our SSA numbers and received ticket No. A102. We took our place on a metal bench in a room with all the charm of a Russian prison.
After half an hour, our number appeared on the screen. Kyle awaited in cubicle No. 13. It proved to be our lucky number.
I explained how we appealed the decision that Katie’s disability had ended, but never heard a word from SSA. Kyle reported that the mistake had been corrected, that a hearing wasn’t required. Then he explained about the lag of 30-60 days in notifications. His last message was a moment of relief. Because Katie’s status was restored, the notice of overpayments was moot. We were relieved and overjoyed.
“Katie, it looks like you won’t need to get a second job and you can stay in your house,’’ I told her. “You’ve got to call your mother and share the good news.’’
So Katie called her on the bluetooth speaker from my truck.
“Mom guess what? I have great news. I just saved us $130,000.’’
She got the numbers wrong, but the sense of relief remained. It was a far cry from forking over $12,352.10.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com
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