There is a reading, I'm not sure which daily reader it is in, though I'm pretty sure it's "Courage to Change", that talks about self care. In it, it talks about how when you are on an airplane, if there is an emergency, you are to put your own oxygen mask on first, then help other people. It extends this to your daily life. You can't help anyone else unless you are taking care of yourself first.
This season I'm working on putting on my financial oxygen mask.
I remember a few times as a kid when my family received 'donations' from the community. One Thanksgiving and Christmas we came home to find a box full of food on our door stop. The same church sent presents for me one year. I remember getting fee waivers in school for AP tests. And I remember my mom talking about the food pantry a few years ago and the types of food she felt okay taking from there. Our family has definitely felt the kind hand of others.
And I can't help but want to give back. I want so much this year to donate to the Capital Area Foodbank, and to DC Central Kitchen, and So Others Might Eat, but donating funds would be financially irresponsible. I still owe $3000 in credit card debt. My own financial oxygen mask isn't quite on yet, and it would be irresponsible for me to try to help someone else out financially right now.
I'm trying to make peace with this.
This morning/afternoon I spent two hours folding and stacking boxes and folding and stuffing info cards into envelopes. The Quaker meeting I go to does something called the Shoebox project. Tomorrow they will take these boxes and stuff them with socks, underwear, gloves, hats, etc, and the info cards, and they will be given to local organizations that handle the homeless in DC. I can't give money this year, but I can give time. And I'm thankful that I can even give back in that way. I don't view my childhood as having been impoverished, and I know it could have been so much worse. I couldn't imagine being homeless or hungry on a daily basis. So while I can't give money to all the organization that do amazing work in DC, I can give them my time, much like people did for my family. It isn't much, but it is what I can give right now. For that, I am grateful.
And I'm grateful that I've almost finished putting on my financial oxygen mask.
12.15.2007
12.04.2007
So it goes
I wish there were something eloquent I could say about death. I wish there were something I could write that would make the pain of death go away. But I don't feel I'm really capable of either.
Prior to this year, there were only really two deaths that truly touched my life. Uncle John died when I was in elementary school (I'd like to say 1987, but I'm not quite sure). I remember going over to my aunt and uncle's apartment and I remember being there with my cousins when they told us. I remember parts of the flight to Florida and have a couple of random snippets of memory from being there, but not much else.
So it goes.
My younger cousin Keith died last year. Although it was by no means a shock, it was amazing that he had survived that long, we all knew that it would happen sooner rather than later.
So it goes.
Sarah has been dead now for a bit over 10 months. Although her death is no longer an ever present thought overwhelming me every day like it used to, I still think about her frequently. I still find it extremely hard to grasp that she is gone. That I will NEVER see her again. This isn't some trip she's gone on, to come back and tell me of her adventures. This isn't a new life out west for her and her husband. She isn't here any more. When I do think about her, I am still overcome with grief and sorrow and regret. I wish there were something I could find comfort in, but so far it hasn't materialized.
So it goes.
Last week a program friend passed away. Today was his funeral and I'm glad I went. His funeral was truly a celebration of his life. Although I knew there would be a lot of people there, it amazed me that the church was packed. I'm sure if everyone I could hear talking in the hallway had tried to come into the sanctuary to sit, it would have been standing room only. What I would like most to carry with me that I learned from Alvin, and that all four people who spoke about him said, is the ability to be kind and truly present. To truly give of oneself. I remember quite a few years ago, after the Friday evening meeting, a few were getting ready to go out to dinner as we usually did. For whatever reason, that week I just didn't have money to eat out. Alvin insisted that he would pay for me. I dislike 'gifts' like these. I prefer to pay my own way and can be very stubborn about it. But Alvin wouldn't hear it, so off we all went to dinner. I've never forgotten his kindness.
So it goes.
A program friend's mom died this week. If there were any woman who I've met who I could say put up a good fight, it is she. I didn't get to meet her until this summer when she was already quite ill, but even in that state I could see the shear amount of spirit she exuded. I know she will be missed by many people.
So it goes.
I know logically that we all will die eventually. It really is the only thing certain in life. I know someone said the only two things certain in life are death and taxes. But if you really think about it, even taxes aren't certain. But death is. And so I still grieve in sobs and wails and tears and anger, not quite understanding what is happening in my head. Still not quite sure how to stop the tears once they start. Still wishing that I'd get a call, inviting me to dinner, because Sarah is in town again.
Prior to this year, there were only really two deaths that truly touched my life. Uncle John died when I was in elementary school (I'd like to say 1987, but I'm not quite sure). I remember going over to my aunt and uncle's apartment and I remember being there with my cousins when they told us. I remember parts of the flight to Florida and have a couple of random snippets of memory from being there, but not much else.
So it goes.
My younger cousin Keith died last year. Although it was by no means a shock, it was amazing that he had survived that long, we all knew that it would happen sooner rather than later.
So it goes.
Sarah has been dead now for a bit over 10 months. Although her death is no longer an ever present thought overwhelming me every day like it used to, I still think about her frequently. I still find it extremely hard to grasp that she is gone. That I will NEVER see her again. This isn't some trip she's gone on, to come back and tell me of her adventures. This isn't a new life out west for her and her husband. She isn't here any more. When I do think about her, I am still overcome with grief and sorrow and regret. I wish there were something I could find comfort in, but so far it hasn't materialized.
So it goes.
Last week a program friend passed away. Today was his funeral and I'm glad I went. His funeral was truly a celebration of his life. Although I knew there would be a lot of people there, it amazed me that the church was packed. I'm sure if everyone I could hear talking in the hallway had tried to come into the sanctuary to sit, it would have been standing room only. What I would like most to carry with me that I learned from Alvin, and that all four people who spoke about him said, is the ability to be kind and truly present. To truly give of oneself. I remember quite a few years ago, after the Friday evening meeting, a few were getting ready to go out to dinner as we usually did. For whatever reason, that week I just didn't have money to eat out. Alvin insisted that he would pay for me. I dislike 'gifts' like these. I prefer to pay my own way and can be very stubborn about it. But Alvin wouldn't hear it, so off we all went to dinner. I've never forgotten his kindness.
So it goes.
A program friend's mom died this week. If there were any woman who I've met who I could say put up a good fight, it is she. I didn't get to meet her until this summer when she was already quite ill, but even in that state I could see the shear amount of spirit she exuded. I know she will be missed by many people.
So it goes.
I know logically that we all will die eventually. It really is the only thing certain in life. I know someone said the only two things certain in life are death and taxes. But if you really think about it, even taxes aren't certain. But death is. And so I still grieve in sobs and wails and tears and anger, not quite understanding what is happening in my head. Still not quite sure how to stop the tears once they start. Still wishing that I'd get a call, inviting me to dinner, because Sarah is in town again.
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