So there’s a random sound bite I posted below of a little boy saying, “Mommy.” He was calling his mom while she was leaving me a phone message wishing us a Happy Easter last April. The thing is, that little voice was just a bulge in a tummy on a street corner when I first met his mom. My last post about helping a mom at the grocery store went semi-viral, so I thought I’d share one from a bit farther back when I was a little less giving and warm-hearted and a little more of a jerk. Heh. :) This was way before we started passing out backpacks and other things in our community. (Backpack Lady would have called me selfish and myopic.) This was way back when I thought helping a person in need was facilitating their laziness somehow. I also thought that giving should never be hard. This is the story that changed my view of the world. And it all started when my life was rudely interrupted by a bump in the road--or in this case, a bump on the side of the road. I was driving my kids home from a hard orthopedics appointment a little less than two years ago and I was exhausted. I saw her there holding her cardboard sign as the light turned defiantly yellow. And there I was right up next to her behind the snickering red light. I sighed heavily. I was not in the mood for this weird dance of pupil avoidance that you’re forced to do when you’re that close to a begging stranger. (And we wonder why so many people on the streets don’t feel human?) If she had actually asked me directly for something I know I would have snapped, “No thank you!” or “Not interested!” while still avoiding her eyes. And I would have believed SHE was the rude one. I had just battled the system for my kids the whole morning and afternoon and I was tired. Some of you know how it is. (Its not always being a special needs mom that sucks the energy out of you, at least not for me, its dealing with the world of doctors and insurance battles and appointments and disappointments. Thats the real hard part.) Needless to say I definitely was not about to take on another blessed thing that day thank you very much. I ignored her and kept my chin up, neck locked, and eyes fixed on the street light ahead, willing it to turn green. She was so close. I could have rolled down my window, stuck my hand out and touched her. And for whatever reason that fact annoyed me immensely. As the light continued to blare down red at me that wee bit of humanity that my exhaustion had pushed aside crept into my head space: “What if she’s hungry?” Pshh, I mentally snapped back at myself, she didn’t look starving. In fact she looked round. Too round in fact. And then curiosity overcame me and my eyes darted quickly to her sign. Pregnant. Homeless. Need money for hotel to have baby. Green light! Go. Go go! I drove all the way home, parked in my driveway, and sat there staring at my knuckles on the steering wheel. My daughter, Laelia, broke the silence, Are you going to carry us inside? Hold on, baby. Mama has to think. I knew my mate was at work, and I had to get back to work myself, but despite that I called him anyway. The strange tenor to my voice clued him in to my strain. Theres a pregnant woman on the corner... I managed. Go get her! he said without giving it two seconds thought. Ugh, that’s just like him. He knew I had helped the last gal on that same corner--one who was older and had a story that broke my heart. But that was different somehow, better. I had taken her home with me and cooked her a healthy lunch on the stove. It was her first meal in a long time that wasn’t from a fast food place. I gave her a pair of my best running shoes that fit her perfectly and some other things from my own drawers and cabinets. It cost me nothing really. And I offered my help out of an abundance of energy and a surplus of extras. Now I had none of either. Back then it felt good. Right now it felt intrusive. But I had been pregnant once. And scared and worried about so many things, but never about if baby and I would have a roof over our heads. Never that. So I pulled back out of my driveway sluggishly and drove through my nicer middle class neighborhood, to the connecting lower class neighborhood adjascent to it, and slightly up the road to the corner where she still stood, in dirty socks with flip flops over them. I parked in the empty lot near the road and took a few hesitant steps in her direction while keeping one hand on my open car door. My kids sat in the back seat staring at the scene with big, curious eyes like cats out a window. She walked up to me. I stared at her middle almost hoping for a glimpse of a pillow under her shirt, but the holes in her clothing clearly betrayed taut pink flesh over a perfect pregnant mound. She stood in front of me, waiting. Sometimes I hate being an introvert. It was awkward. I asked what she needed. She asked for food and cash, and quickly explained that the cash was so she could recover from giving birth in a nice hotel with running water. Her goal was to save enough for a whole two weeks. Where are you living now? A tent. You know, the tents. I nodded. But I didnt know. This was not my world. What tents? Where do we shuffle human beings with bellies full of human beings into tents? Why was her face telling me that this was normal when THIS WAS NOT NORMAL! And the last chip fell off my heart. I didnt have cash, I rarely do, but I offered to take her to a hotel and I would pay the clerk myself with my credit card. Then we’d work out something else more permanent in the morning. She noticed my kids and she hesitated, stopped. I cant, she said, not with your kids in there. I have lice. Instantly every part of my entire body itched. And I willed my scratching fingers away from my buzzing scalp. Stay here. Ill bring you something for it. Okay. And some food. And a Pepsi? And a Pepsi! I parroted back, relieved for the instruction. She smiled at me then with teeth that had clearly never seen a dentist. I knew I was staring. I knew she knew I was staring. “I know, my teeth…” she started. “It’s fine!” I blurted out and sped off. The whole short drive up Linda Vista road I couldn’t stop thinking about how I lived in the best city in Southern California where movie stars with perfect mouths came to retire. And here was a woman who could never afford a basic cleaning. I picked up some RID for lice and gloves and one of those tiny comb thingies. Then I scratched my head a few times just to assuage the impulse. The imaginary lice crawled all over me. My mom would call this a psychosomatic reaction. That knowledge didn’t make it stop. Being a special needs parent you end up knowing your pharmacist, so I can honestly say that he was completely shocked when I asked him if I could use this lice medicine while pregnant. I thought I might have to pick him up off the floor! Ha! On impulse I grabbed some real shoes for her feet, and clean socks, and then some horribly processed meats and cheeses and crackers a la Rite Aid. I almost got out the door before remembering she had asked for a Pepsi—her pregnancy craving. This time when I pulled back into that parking lot she recognized me immediately and came right over. I handed her three plastic bags filled with stuff. (If only I’d had a backpack to put them in so she could easily get them across town!) While I was instructing her how to use the lice treatment she opened up more about her fears and needs. She wondered if they would take her baby when she went to the hospital. She asked me how social workers worked. When she found out my son was adopted she said something odd. Something I cant quite remember well enough to quote all this time later, and I didn’t want to read too much into it, but it gave me the impression that she wondered if I could keep her baby until she could get on her feet, that that might be best for him. That someone else besides her and her circumstances would be best for him. I told her I was on her side now, in her corner, and dedicated to making sure that baby was taken care of and that she was around for him. I found out she had been given a prepaid cell through a government program so I got the number and the account info and spent about $50 right then and there to give her unlimited minutes for the next month. Then I promised to call every charity in San Diego and get her a place to live. Between the cell minutes and the food and the lice treatment and the cheap shoes the total cost to me was just over $100. And I remember driving home and thinking how that was nothing, well nothing in the grand scheme of things. We had just taken a day trip to Disneyland the week or so before and had dropped more than that much money on tickets alone. And that was for fun. This was her life. This amount literally changed her life, provided relief and comfort from the constant itching, and doubled her earthly possessions all at once, all in a flash. That still doesnt compute in my head sometimes. I thought I had nothing to give, but instead I gave nothing I would hurt without. Eventually she got into St. Vincent’s (a miracle that came through her friends on the street more than my paltry efforts) where she was allowed to stay for up to two years and had access to programs like parenting classes and job training. She got in right before her baby came, not a second to spare. The door to her room actually locked. This was a big deal to her. I gave her a call to set up a visit. She sounded so excited as she told me about the fruit and veggies available at every meal, things she’d gone without for a long time. She was so happy. But one thing worried her, she didnt have a car seat and she just found out that the hospital would not allow her to take her baby home without one. We both groaned how dumb that was considering she would be walking home and she didnt own a car, but there was nothing we could do. SafeKids was willing to give her a free one if I drove her over there and she took a class. But they didn’t offer a class before her baby would come. So I put word on Facebook that we needed a car seat. Thats when it started. People just came through. Not only my friends and family, but people from local mommy groups that I had not even met in person were offering items to meet her every need! A fellow mom and woman and person was in distress, and these women didn’t hesitate to become her champions. They put me to shame, every single one of them. The resounding chorus of female voices sounded, and the music sung was, “We take care of our own. You are our sister!” And in the next few days a significant corner of my home started to overflow with their gifts of love: a bassinet, a car seat, a nice stroller, a C-section belt (she ended up needing a C-section), bottles, toys, hand-made blankets, a newborn kit, lots of diapers in different sizes, wipes, food, onesies, and much much more. I loaded it up in my car and it filled every space, up to the roof, pressing against the windows, in the trunk, loaded to bursting. I felt like Santa in his sleigh on Christmas Eve before his first stop. I checked in at St. Vincents at the front desk behind the locked gate and waited as they called her down. She had no idea what was coming. I greeted her with a Pepsi. That was almost two years ago. This last Easter she gave me a call to let me know they were doing okay. And that’s when my voice mail recorded that tiny voice in the background saying, “Mommy?” That recording remains one of my most precious treasures. And as someone dear to me pointed out, our gift to this unborn baby was not all those baby items; our gift to him was his mommy. Orphan prevention starts with supporting moms, even those who intrude on our busy lives from a street corner.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 23:19:03 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015