A surprise visit

It was late and we were all just relaxing at home after a long day in the sun when WHAM!  I dropped my book, looked towards the door and uttered these words, I remember them exactly, "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"  Standing just inside my front door was a large woman covered in blood.  My husband startled awake, looked at the intruder, jumped over the couch, opened the front door and peered out.  I went over to the door and yelled, "What are you doing?  Whoever did this to her may still be out there!"  I pulled the door shut.  By this time I had taken a good look at the woman with the blood smeared all over her face and noticed her small hands, she was just a young woman and I thought she had encountered abuse.  My daughter was huddled in the corner screaming into the phone that there was a bloody lady in our house and that her mom, me, was now beginning to clean her up.  She, my daughter, suddenly screamed through her tears, "Mom, get away from her she may have a knife.  They know who she is and she cuts herself."  I continued to wipe the blood from her hands and face and could see that she had a small cut on her forehead.  It was obvious that she had somehow cut her head and then proceeded to rub the blood all over  her face.  It was also obvious as she kept stammering, "I want to go to pic, I want to go to pic." that she was cognitively impaired.  I asked her her name and she told me it was Jessica, I figured she was about twenty years old, but I had no idea where she had come from or what 'pic' was.  The officers who arrived on the scene cleared things up.  Jessica was from a group home down the street.  I did not know that there was a group home down the street.  This was not the first time that Jessica had gone visiting come to find out, so the officers were well aware of her.  I asked them what 'pic' was and was told it stood for 'psychiatric intensive care' that's where Jessica wanted to go.  "Why?" I asked. They get drugs there I was told.  I felt sorry for her.  The officers put her in the squad car and drove her just down the street to the group home where she resided.  We were assured that that was the last we would see of Jessica.  My husband and I went back inside where my youngest son was huddled in the corner of the couch, my daughter was still sobbing and needed to be held, and my oldest son was sitting on the steps instructing me to please wash my hands and throw away the rag I had used to wash off Jessica.  We had all just settled down again when we heard BAM, BAM, BAM, and we jumped out of our skin!  I ran to the door, flung it open, and there on the porch was a very naked Jessica!  I grabbed her arm and brought her inside.  My daughter was once again in the corner of the room sobbing into the phone, and this very large naked young woman was standing in my living room every bit as confused and numb as we were.  The police arrived in no time at all, I don't think they had made it back to the precinct before they were summoned to return to our house.  I hadn't had time to respond to Jessica's nakedness and when the officers walked into the room they asked if I might have a sheet to put around her.  The request jolted me from my state of disbelief, and I ran upstairs, retrieved a sheet and wrapped Jessica up in it.  The officers took her away again.  We were told that when they had taken her back the first time she was probably stripped and put in her room where the caretakers figured she would stay since she had no clothes on; but that was not going to keep Jessica from going where she wanted to go!  I guess she came back to us because we were home and we were nice to her the first time, I don't know.  This night occurred over ten years ago, the group home is still there but to my knowledge Jessica is not.  There is also a group home right next door to us.  Should there be group homes in suburbia?  This question is being posed by residents in Northville Township who are worried by recent incidents involving persons living in nearby group homes.  I don't have an answer.  What if my children had been home without us that night?  The three of them were old enough to have been home together with us just around the block where we had been that day.  What would have happened without us there?  Could Jessica have gotten violent with my children?  Would she have been hurt by any of my children protecting themselves and each other?  How had she gotten out, where were the  people who were supposed to be taking care of her the first time and the second time?  What if I had a developmentally disabled child who had grown to adulthood and needed and wanted some independence?  I would want a place where my child could blossom and feel free, and I would know what was happening.  That is what strikes me about the group homes in my neighborhood, no one comes to visit.  Where are the families of these adults who need some independence but still need care?  If the residents of these group homes are able, but developmentally disabled, why do they never get outside?  I would not have a problem knowing who they are and interacting with them.  I have a problem not knowing who they are and not being able to interact with them and those who love them.  My question about group homes is not should they be in existence, not who should the clients be, but what is the responsibility of the family?  Group homes in neighborhoods where  people are raising families should not be for the forgotten and unloved.  I remember Jessica, I still feel for Jessica, and I know that Jessica did not grow or blossom in the group home just down the street.  What do you think?
Rosemary