I was walking by the park when I stopped and sighed. After many months of ever-flowing tears, wails of grief and anger beyond belief I was able to remember the good times we had there and not cry. Even the worst grief can be overcome in time. Grief does fade though it's difficult to almost impossible to believe while you're in the middle of it. Norma, my grief counselor had walked me through it step by step. How she did it is beyond my understanding. Being subjected to that maelstrom of emotion and anger over and over as she counsels her clients would seem overwhelming to me. Her phrase was you learn to accept the unacceptable. I sat weekly in a widows and widowers group and hearing those stories was like a wave that passed over me. That wave of emotion, grief and anger seems at times that it will explode our room, bursting the walls through sheer force of will. Andrea and I were the youngest. We bonded in time over exchanges as we sat at a table with our drinks in front of us untouched. We reached out to each other and were rewarded with friendship and understanding.
What was the next step? My daughter was gone, the victim of being hit by a car after she ran after a ball. My husband was gone, unable to process his own grief as well as dealing with mine. A settlement with the school district after they admitted guilt in her death sustained me. But I couldn't sit and dwell on all of it anymore. I started to help at the local food bank. They were grateful for the extra help as they dealt with the increase in need, now a river of people who needed food. Their eyes all seemed the same, a mixture of dread and lack of hope. They weren't just the poor though there were plenty of those. Now there were well dressed men and women grateful for the boxes of food we disbursed. But their eyes were the same. Their fall had been greater and many also seemed in shock from it. The director, Devon, was a ball of fire. He chided companies to help, sat on the phone coordinating deliveries and inspired all of us in our work.
One day he came up to me and said, "Kasey, thanks for your help. As you can see, we are stretched very thin. Finding enough help seems to be a full time job in itself. Rather than packing boxes would you consider working in the office helping to gather volunteers and donations?"
I was flattered, stunned even. Packing boxes was mindless and I could turn off my mind and just do the work. I realized after a long silence I needed to say something, "thank you for thinking of me for such a position. Let me think about it. To be brutally honest doing this lets me turn off my mind from what consumes me."
"I'm sorry you carry so much sorrow. It's a painful process. I know because I lost a son. He was fifteen and learning to drive when a man ran a red light and crashed into the driver training vehicle. It's what motivates me in this work. It's in his honor I do this every day. It never gets easier but you learn to live with it."
I listened to his story and was touched by it. I changed my mind. "I'd be happy to take the position. My work here is in memory of my daughter who died at four, the victim of being hit by a car. It was a senseless accident, she ran in front of a car chasing a ball. How do I begin? It all seems a bit overwhelming."
"Just do what you can do. That's all you have to do. I need organizational help, we're getting too big for me to do it all. I can't turn them away. I just need more and more help, money and donations. Can you start tomorrow? Just find me and I'll direct you."
The next day I found Devon in his office, on the phone and typing on his computer keyboard at the same time. I stood in the entryway until he finished his call. "Can you organize things? Too much of what we do is in my head and phone. We need to have the security against something happening to me. We need a list of vendors and their contact name and phone numbers. We need a list of donors of time, the churches and organizations that support us with the same contact names and numbers. Addresses would also be nice if we need to speak to them in person. We need a list of cash donors with the same info. We need, we need, we need. But that's a start." He pointed me to a battered laptop sitting on an otherwise empty desk. I spent two hours finding a pad of paper, pens, pencils, an eraser, other office supplies and a whiteboard
"What's the whiteboard for?"
I said, "to record the next list of need and anything else that comes up. We need to do a data dump of your mind."
He laughed at that and said, "enough of this for a moment, let's grab a up of coffee or tea as you prefer. Then we can actually talk like normal people." I found the equally battered Keurig coffee maker, selected a pod and brewed a cup. The note attached to it said to select the smallest cup because it delivers random full cups at that level and overflows cups on the higher settings. Devon stood next to me and waited his turn. Armed with cups of coffee we went back to his office and began talking.
"Let's put this down for a little while and talk about ourselves. Tell me about you," Devon asked.
"My current life began about eighteen months ago when my daughter died. My husband couldn't deal with everything and divorced me. My ex is supporting me. Otherwise I'm living off a settlement from the school district for negligence. The playing fields are surrounded by a four foot fence. The gates are supposed to be closed and locked. On that morning one was unlocked and open. She chased a ball through the opening and between two cars into the street. She died instantly. Months and months of grief counseling got me to where I can function. I needed something to do so here I am."
"We can pay you for this work. You won't get rich but it might help you live."
"Thank you for that. I'll take whatever you can offer," I replied.
"What was your life before that," Devon asked.
"I was a happily married stay-at-home mother planning on having a second child. We lived in a fairly small house and were thinking we would need a larger place when we had two children. Life seemed very normal. We were loving and caring though stretched thin by parenting. He was a good husband and good provider. And then it all ended."
"I am so profoundly sorry to hear your story," Devon said.
"What about you?"
"My son died five years ago. Like you, I fought through all the emotions that come from that. My wife and I had been divorced for a little over a year and we were sharing custody. That week he was with me. That morning I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. That was the last time I saw him alive. I still have nightmares from identifying him at the morgue. About three years ago I was doing what you were doing, putting together boxes of food for people. The guy who ran the organization had a heart attack and died. I picked up the pieces and just threw myself into running it. I was relentless in asking for food, donors and help. The need just continued to grow. We're more than triple the size we were when I started. And it's still not enough. I'm approaching burnout unless I let some things go. I saw you and saw someone who could help. Here we are."
"A depressing story with a happy ending. You came out of it with a major accomplishment."
"One held together with tape and baling wire. I'm chasing my tail all the time, moving from one mode to another depending on that day's disaster."
We went back to work and the day flew by. The doors closed for the day still with people in line. We needed time to restock before the next day's handouts. At closing time Devon stood by the door and thanked every person as they left, hugging many, especially the women. I was last in line and I hugged him.
He said, "would you go to dinner with me? I eat alone far too often."
