A Beautiful Thing
A Beautiful Thing
It’s official. I’m at the age where friends my own age die. I don’t mean to be depressing but its true; cancer, heart attacks, stroke, you just never know; every day it’s another story. My husband has a theory that most people will forget about you within twenty minutes of the funeral. I’d like to think I’m much less cynical and also more important; that my web of connections is strong and deep but the truth is I’ve been guilty of just such emotional abandon, crying in the chapel one minute, lamenting the traffic in the parking lot the next. Here is the grieving widow and her children and here am I within minutes of the service, aggravated not by the loss but by the congestion involved in getting onto Route 4. I’ve been ashamed. And when I’m ashamed I try to make amends, touch more lives, mean something to more people and that’s a surefire way to alienate everyone. I might try to ‘help’ a friend with my good advice she hasn’t asked for and doesn’t want. Or stick myself in the middle of a dispute between two people who of course, only end up agreeing to be angry with me. I will engage in random acts of guilt masked as kindness; offering a ride to an elderly lady walking down the street with packages; I fantasize that there is risk; she could turn out to be not a needy old lady but a psycho killer. Well maybe not.
Recently I found a better way to make a difference. I decided to sponsor a single mother as part of the womentowomen.org program. I don’t yet know her name, only that by my small monthly contribution her entire life will change; her children will be fed and attend school, she will learn skills and be able to support herself, a family will transform from victims to survivors and that’s just a beautiful thing. I am anxious to meet her, to correspond with her, whether she is from the Belgian Congo, Nigeria, or Sudan. I doubt she will attend my funeral when it is my time, but I can live with that.