I met Frank during the height of the COVID-19 lockdown, in early 2020. We could not meet in person, and so I had to perform a legal intake with him over the phone on the floor of my bathroom – the only room in my studio apartment that had a door so I could maintain privacy.  The phone call was brief and confusing, and the only thing he could tell me was that the military harmed him, and that he could remember his social security number.  He wanted me to represent him in a disability claim for service-connected compensation through the Department of Veterans Affairs. Frank had schizophrenia. His type was severe. He suffered from hallucinations and delusions that were so all-encompassing that I sometimes wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he knew he was talking to me or to the voices in his head. He struggled with alcoholism and frequently called me from liquor stores – so often that I saved the phone numbers in my office line as “Frank – Liquor Store (New London)” or “Frank – Liquor Store (Banned)” so I knew what I was getting into when I picked up the phone.   In order to represent Frank in his disability claim, I needed to get in touch with his conservator. It was a hard time – even attorney to attorney, getting forms signed on behalf of Frank was a lot of back and forth. Getting the conservator on the phone was next to impossible. It was my first encounter with the conservatorship system in Connecticut, and it was not a pleasant one. I often received messages that I considered disparaging against my client. In one message, the conservator’s office asked me, “Does he actually have a case? Is this even necessary?” I often felt that I was alone in believing Frank’s story that he was disabled as a result of his service.   I won that case. Frank was thrilled. It was one of the few happy phone calls I had with him in our years-long attorney-client relationship. He could now afford rent and live in a stable housing situation. He could be comfortable instead of deciding which bridge to sleep under that night. Chelsea Donaldson Eventually, Frank petitioned for a release of his conservatorship. He had never agreed with being conserved, and wanted full access to his money. His clinicians (doctors, nurses, social workers, and staff) strongly recommended against it. Frank struggled with an ongoing substance abuse problem. Liquor and cocaine were his drugs of choice. His clinicians had stabilized him. He was sober for the first time in months, but his sobriety was tentative. He was medication-compliant, but that did not stop his most severe symptoms from bubbling up in times of stress or excitement. Before the hearing, Frank had informed his clinicians that he had intended to divvy up money to his clones when he was released from his conservatorship.  I attended the hearing, but did not formally testify. After all, I was Frank’s attorney for a very specific issue, and did not offer an opinion on whether or not he should be conserved. I only confirmed what was already in the record – that Frank had been deemed not able to manage his finances by the VA, that he had a service-connected disability of schizophrenia, and that I regularly worked with his clinicians in order to adequately communicate with Frank due to the severity of his psychosis. The probate hearing ultimately resulted in Frank being released from his conservatorship. He had full access to his non-VA funds, immediately. The judge did not seem to take the concerns of his clinicians seriously, and neither did the conservator. Instead, the judge stated that conservatorship was “not the answer” for Frank, and that Frank needed to fail in order to learn how to manage his money. That he, in spite of every ounce of evidence to the contrary, did not need case management for his funds. That there were consequences for actions. Within days, Frank called me, words slurred with alcohol. Within weeks, he had regularly blown through his non-VA funds on anything but his basic needs. Within six months, I received a call that Frank was found dead in his home.  This situation is not unique. The conservatorship system in Connecticut is inherently flawed, but a solid solution at fixing it seems out of reach. Many court-appointed conservators have thousands of cases to manage and are paid minimally through the state. They serve an essential function – to manage people who have no other options. In my experience, the probate court is loath to hold these folks to the high standard that Connecticut law requires because, to be blunt, there is no one else to fill the gap. The people who fall into the court-appointed conservatorship cycle, like Frank, meet a few set qualifications. They have no family to step up for them, or they are too poor to afford a private pay conservator. So they are appointed one by the court – and that court-appointed conservator often does not have the time or training to manage people who require proper case management like Frank. The only training “encouraged” by the state of Connecticut is a three-hour program concerning what a conservator is responsible for. For someone like Frank, who lived in a different reality than the rest of his circle, a three-hour training was not going to prepare someone to navigate the complexities of his situation. Instead, people like Frank become a number in a system that is overburdened and woefully inadequate for individuals who require compassion, care, and dignity in the midst of mental crisis. In a system where society’s most vulnerable requires the strength of character to defend them, Connecticut falls woefully short. As the Connecticut Legal Rights Project states: “Connecticut has a modern, even a model conservatorship statute, but it is too often ignored.”  Per the Standards of Practice for conservators, “The conservator shall limit the conservator’s caseload to a size that allows the conservator to support, protect and maintain ongoing contact with each conserved person.”  In reality, this does not happen.  In my experience, I voiced complaints and concerns for multiple conservatorships on behalf of my clients, but they have been ignored by the courts. On one occasion, I was told by the judge: “Where else do you want me to send your client?  Because it’s either this conservator or nothing.”  I have been told by attorneys who operate as court-appointed conservators that they have upwards of 1,500 clients through this system. I have been told by clients that they never speak to their actual conservator, but the paralegals in their office instead.   The probate courts may be doing the best with the resources they are granted, but it is often not enough. Too many court-appointed conservators do not pay sufficient attention to their clients, who are desperate for assistance. For some, it may be because they are corrupt and do not care.  But for many, it is because they simply do not have the time to handle the hundreds to thousands of clientele the state assigns them for lack of a better place to go.  The system failed Frank. He died far too young, a victim of a system that was supposed to protect him. He should be alive and enjoying his time off of the streets, making friends and getting healthy. Instead, I will no longer be answering phone calls or seeing him at the VA, but visiting a grave. In memory of Frank, my client and friend. I treasured every single conversation I had with you. The system failed you, and I hope you are now at peace. Chelsea Donaldson is a member of the Connecticut Mirror’s Community Editorial Board.