Terry Toma is frank when asked what CHD has done for him. “They saved my life, honestly,” he said. Toma is a participant in CHD’s transitional housing program in Holyoke, which offers homeless individuals suffering from mental illness and substance use disorder a place to live, personal case management, and support as they work toward long-term stability.

Toma has severe heart and mental health issues, no steady income, and a history of homelessness and alcoholism. “If I were back on the street, I’d be dead,” he said.

The 54-year-old suffers from heart failure, which means it’s not working at full capacity, because of damage from two heart attacks and clogged arteries that require seven heart stents. He’s also receiving therapy and taking medications for anxiety (diazepam) and severe depression (mirtazapine and escitalopram).

The New Haven, CT native has been on the road most of his adult life, traveling the country, and ending up in western Massachusetts when his car broke down in the area several years ago. He stayed with a friend in Shutesbury, MA for a few months and worked as a janitor in a supermarket in South Hadley, but his heart troubles prevented him from keeping up with his cleaning tasks. “I got my car fixed, and I ended up living in my car packed with all my stuff, going from gas station to gas station begging people for gas money so I could keep the heat on,” he said.

When his car wouldn’t run anymore, he stayed at a couple of shelters in Amherst, and then he ended up at CHD’s emergency shelter in Holyoke before living in CHD transitional housing.

His life journey includes years of following the Grateful Dead in his youth, going to more than 100 concerts across the US and communing with the band’s loyal legion of Deadheads. But when Grateful Dead lead guitarist and vocalist Jerry Garcia died in 1995, much of the Deadhead subculture dissipated, leaving some Deadheads, including Toma, feeling orphaned and lacking purpose. “It was my whole world,” said Toma, who had financed his hippie lifestyle by selling veggie burritos at Dead shows and doing manual labor in between concert tours. But after 1995, his depressive episodes worsened, and his heart problems became more frequent, leaving him out of breath and out of work. His girlfriend broke up with him, and his mother and stepfather died, leaving him without family and friend supports. “My post-Jerry depression would kick in,” he said. “I would numb that with alcohol, and of course there’s never a good ending to that kind of story.”

Toma is in recovery, “although I slip up every now and again,” so he sees his recovery coach often. “We text back and forth almost every day,” he said. He is working with CHD Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner Geena Whittredge to cut down on anxiety and depression medication dosages because they leave him tired “and feeling like there is a tug of war inside my body.”

His apartment is incredibly clean but sparsely furnished—he lives an uncluttered life, as he had in the past, because he is afraid of losing any possessions he might acquire. “I’ve lost everything I’ve ever owned due to homelessness,” he said. At one point, he had stored all his property at his stepbrother’s house. “But he ended up throwing everything out,” he said. “He doesn’t understand depression. He is an Iraq war veteran who did three tours over there, and he told me, ‘If I can get through that, you can get through anything.’ We don’t speak anymore. So sometimes I have a problem trusting people. I’m afraid to trust.

”However, he does have high praise for CHD staff, including Caseworker Lex Charles and Marilyn Rosa, CHD program manager in Diversion, Shelter, and Housing. “Any time I want to talk, Marilyn is there to listen,” he said. “She is incredibly empathetic and provides very personalized support. I am very fortunate to have CHD in my life.”

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