Our country is on FIRE right now. Social media probably has never been used for a better cause—spreading awareness of injustice and some serious issues that need to be examined really closely. We are being asked to really think about ourselves ask ourselves what we believe and what might be hidden inside psychic that might be prejudice and hurtful. It’s painful and uncomfortable and maybe even a little sad. But on the flip side, how awesome that we are all getting the chance to really examine our minds and hearts and if we find them lacking, are able to change them.
I have found myself lacking. In so so many ways. It’s been humbling and made me rethink how I view everyone and everything. But most of all, how I act or don’t act. Not just in response to the riots and racial issues, but in my everyday life. Am I giving everyone a fair chance? Am I accepting and loving and appreciative of who the people around me are RIGHT now, just as they are?
I’ve spent a lot of time outside lately. Hiking with friends, biking with John, running, walking, and sitting. Outdoors I am most at peace. I feel like I can relax and breath and just be. Nature cares nothing for how I look, what I’ve done that day or haven’t done that day, who I am or what I believe. It just is there in all it’s glorious glory for me to absorb and enjoy. I am free outdoors.
I’ve realized that’s how I want people to feel with me. I know super duper long shot that I will fail at immeasurable times, but still . .. a girls got to dream. And I dream of being a safe place for everyone.
As I’ve been thinking about the opposite and of course reading and reading and hearing and watching and hurting for so many who don’t feel safe, I keep remembering our family trip to NYC a few years ago while Henry was on his mission. We stayed Queens but walked through the Bronx to get to a subway stop we wanted. I was raised in Connecticut, but John and my kids were and are from Utah. They loved the food, music and culture of where we were staying and didn’t think twice about being the odd ones out. Their cousins are a beautiful brown and so it was not odd to be around people of color for them. But one day as we were walking to our subway stop, something hit me on my arm. It hurt and it was wet. Phoebe yelped and John said ow! And touched the back of his head. Celia had something on her face and both Finn and PIper’s packs were covered in goo.
We had been egged.
We stared at each other, mystified at how this could happen and wondering what happened. And then, for a minute, I felt fear.
But at that same instant, at least five people who were on the side walk around us came running up. Asking if we were ok. A girl and her friends came running over saying, “That’s just my stupid brother, and his idiot teenage friends. I’m gonna tell on him! He is just an idiot.”
They literally surrounded us and one young woman who had been walking with her boyfriend pulled me aside and very seriously said, “It’s not safe here for your kind. You shouldn’t be walking these streets. People do stupid things around here and you could get hurt.”
I felt sick. And scared. And we were all covered in egg and no one had a tissue between all of us.
We made it to our subway stop, eggy and gross, just a block away, shaken and shell shocked.
There was a sweet Hispanic family with babies and toddlers standing beside us. I asked them if they could spare a wipe or two to wipe our faces and clothes. They pulled out a whole package of wipes band told us to use as many as we needed.
I have never been more grateful.
That night, after a lovely Yankees game and a Shake Shack meal, as we walked very quickly back to our apartment, John said to us, “This feeling, this fear and worry, that’s how some people feel all the time.”
All of us were quiet for a long time. The kids started talking about how horrible that was that anyone should be afraid. But what I kept thinking and worrying about was, if a black family got egged in a predominately white part of town, did people run over to check on them, to worry over them and make them feel seen and not alone?
Throughout my life, I have been saved or at least helped, by strangers. They have come in all shapes, sizes, genders, races, and creeds. And all of them have come forward and helped me brave a scary situation.
When I was sixteen, strangers came and picked up my mother and myself in the middle of now where Pennsylvania and fed me dinner and gave us a room to sleep in as my mother recovered from heat exhaustion. I will never forget their welcome, their warmth, and their utter acceptance of the wildly bazaar situation that lead me to their house.
When I was twenty-four, Henry had a fever seizure in a D.C. metro station. I was running around, JOhn holding his lip form, begging security guards for help. They dismissed me and my frantic pleas. A beautiful older black woman standing near by came to me and touched my arm, and told me the reason the whole metro was closed down was because they thought an elderly black man was having a heart attack. She told me there was an ambulance right outside the door. “Go,” she said, “get your baby help.”
We ran up the stairs and there, parked against the sidewalk was an ambulance. I knocked on the door and said, “My baby is sick, so sick!”
They opened the door with a sick man on the stretcher and pulled us in, telling us they were going to the hospital right then. When we go to the hospital, we were taken to the pediatric unit. As we were telling them the situation, Henry had another seizure. He heart stopped and about eighteen medical staff ran in. I don’t know what they did, but we knew in those seconds as everyone was screaming, we might just lose our baby boy.
First horrifying parent moment (little did I know what was coming).
They stabilized him and ran him in for a CAT scan or MRI—I can’t remember—but since I was pregnant, I couldn’t go with them. John could. They left me outside in a waiting area.
I sat on those hard plastic chairs, tears running down my cheeks, my heart beating faster than was good for my baby inside me, feeling utterly powerless and alone.
“What’s got you so upset,” a deep, calm voice asked beside me.
I looked over at a middle aged black man holding his side.
“My baby had a seizure and I can’t be with him and I don’t know if he’ll be ok . . .”
And I burst into sobs.
He reached over and patted my shoulder and said all sorts of soothing words and told me how babies are tough and they bounce back and that everything would be ok. He went on talking to me for about twenty minutes. Telling me stories and even making me smile once or twice. He saved me from totally losing it. He made me feel safe and heard and not alone.
“Ok, let’s get that knife wound looked at now,” a nurse said as she appeared beside the man.
“It was nice talking to you. I know your sons gonna be just fine. Have a good evening,” he said as he cautiously stood, holding tight to his left side and followed the nurse.
A knife wound?
That sweet man had talked to blubbering old me for 20 minutes while he had a knife wound? He put aside his own discomfort, not once mentioning anything other than there was a bit of a upset at a concert going on uptown, to talk to and make me feel better.
Then the next day, Henry’s doctor, after telling us what was going on (they didn't know, needed to keep him for another day to observe), looked at me and asked how far along I was. Once I told him six month, he said, “Follow me, I’m buying you breakfast.”
He took me to the cafeteria and bought not only me, but John breakfast. When I offered to pay him back, he laughed. “It is my gift to you,” he said. “You have enough to worry about.”
And the story goes on and on. We were maybe the only whites people in that hospital and we were loved, understood, and helped.
We were at Howard University hospital in what I later learned was the sketchiest, at the time, part of DC. I have never felt safer.
Could I say the same, if the roles were reversed?
I will tell you what all this taught me—open your eyes, look around for people who are asking or just plane old obviously needing help, and HELP.
I have walked by, driven by, closed my ears to so many pleas, thinking someone else will help. But these men and women, they’ve taught me, shown me a different path.
I think of two times I have stopped. I tell them not to make myself seem great. I am in fact ashamed that I can think of only two stories, but I tell them because I almost didn’t stop and how small a thing it turned out to be for me, but what a good thing it was for them.
It was a few years ago, Phoebe, Piper and Finn and I all went to the zoo. It was a super warm June day and though it was a lovely experience, we were hot and sweaty and tired. We were also late leaving and were in a rush to get home in time for a ballet class Phoebe needed to attend. About three miles from the zoo traffic slowed down to a crawl, just inching forward, a few cars at a time.
After about 15 minutes, we began to see what the problem was--a stalled car in the middle of the intersection. It was an ancient big car, blocking two lanes of traffic. As we drove past, we saw there were two young women looking scared, their eyes huge, still in the car.
I looked around at two lanes of traffic on both sides with two more intersecting it, flowing passed these girls. We had been driving now for almost 20 minutes in this traffic jam. I looked around thinking surely someone had pulled over and was going to come to their rescue. But on all side there were no cars pulled over. There were people at the gas station at the intersection corners watching as they pumped their gas, but not one person was walking over to help them.
"Phoebe," I said, making a quick u-turn, "we are going to help those women."
"But Mom," she said, "we are both small and that is a huge car and it's up hill. We can't help them."
"We are small," I told her, "but we are strong. No one else is helping. We are the help."
"But Mom, I have my ballet class. I can't be late!"
"Phoebe, we can't not stop."
She looked over at the women in the car and shook her head.
"You're right, Mom. No one is helping. Why?"
I had no answer for her.
I pulled into the gas station and parked. I turned to the younger kids and made them promise to stay in the car.
Phoebe and I got out and walked to the cross walk. I noticed a young man pumping gas at the station and said, "Excuse me, could you please come help us? We are trying to help those women in the car."
He looked at us as if we'd lost our minds.
"No," he said and turned away from me.
I couldn't believe it. Right there in front of him, and about six other people, was someone in desperate need. I turned back to the car and shook my head.
"We can do this, Phoe," I told her.
But at this point she was angry.
"Look at all these cars just driving past, and not one person stopping. They're just honking and yelling and swearing at them. Why doesn't anyone stop?"
Again, I had no answer.
The light turned and we ran out the to car. We found two girls, maybe 18 years old, one crying, the other shell shocked, and a small baby in an ancient carseat. We pulled open their doors and quickly unbuckled the baby. Phoebe helped the girl grab a baby and a diaper bag and run over to the side of road as the light changed.
I stood talking to the driver as cars streamed by us, honking and speeding and yelling at us to get out of the road.
The driver was in such a state that she could not even hear what I was telling her. The light changed again and Phoebe came running back to help. I told the woman to shift her car into neutral and we would push it out of the way.
She finally heard me but then gave me a look like, there is no way you two tiny humans can push this ancient three ton car.
"We only have a few seconds here," I told her, "put it in neutral!
Shaking, she shifted the gear and both Phoebe and I pushed with all our might. I literally felt like Sisyphus, we were trying to do a nearly impossible task. The car inched forward ever so slightly. With us grunting and straining every muscle, we moved it probably a foot.
The light changed and again, cars flowed by us, honking and yelling, as we wiped our brows and felt utterly discouraged.
Once again the light was in our favor and I told yelled "push!" and Phoebe did and I saw she was close to tears. Just then I heard someone running up. I looked and it was the man at the pump.
"This so dangerous and stupid," he said grumpily as he took the other side of the bumper and began pushing. We moved a few more feet.
Two bullet motorcycle bikers drove up beside us and literally leaped off their bikes, leaving them in the road, and ran to help us.
By this point, we were running along side the car, pushing it out of the way so fast.
We pushed it into a grocery store parking lot and parked it in a safe spot. With help, it took us 30 seconds to push out of the way.
The two helmeted bikers didn't say anything, just nodded at our thanks as they ran back to their bikes.
The grumpy gas station man shook his head at all of us as we thanked him and walked back over to his car. I like to remember him as being not quite as grumpy after--maybe he was.
We ran back across the road to make sure the other girl and baby were ok and that they all had someone coming to get them. They did. So we ran back to our van and were on our way in literally seconds.
This whole ordeal took only about seven minutes and we were back on the road.
As we drove off, Phoebe asked, "How many people drove by during those twenty minutes before we got to the car, Mom?"
I told her I had no idea.
"If the first person who passed by after their car stalled stopped, there would have been almost no traffic jam. Why didn't they stop? It was so easy to push out of the way once people came to help. Why did so many people on all sides of the road pass by with out helping? Literally hundreds of cars probably passed by . . . and no one stopped."
I have thought about this so often over the years since.
Why didn't any of those other people stop? Why so often do we pass by those in need thinking, someone else will help?
I have been that person too many times to count.
There was another time, when we lived in Calgary, we were on a much needed date. Just John and I. Dinner and maybe a movie--pure luxury. As we were driving, there was a car that was stopped at a stop sign that wouldn't move. Car after car drove by, honking and yelling (which is not very Canadian, but that night it did happen). We also passed by and I looked over to see and elderly man looking around at us, his eyes huge, his face super pale.
"We have to turn around!" I told John. He looked at me funny and asked if I was sure.
"Yes, yes, yes!" I said. "Something is wrong with that man!"
John flipped around and came back. We both felt stupid but also strangely urgent about getting to him.
We knocked on his window and he slowly rolled it down. His words were slurred and he held up his phone and kept saying, "I am trying to call my wife. I don't know where I am. I don't know how to use my phone."
I asked him if he felt ok, and he said he didn't.
"I'm diabetic," he said.
I don't know much about diabetics, but I knew that things can go bad fast.
I called 911 as John figured out exactly where we were to give the police a location. When I told them the man seemed disoriented and was diabetic, they sort of freaked out.
"Stay with him," they told us, "keep him talking and see if he has any food to eat. We will get the paramedics there as fast as possible."
We helped him put on his flashers and I think John might have helped move his car to the side. We stayed with him while we waited for help.
He had no food and sadly neither did we, but we talked to him and told him he was going to be ok and that someone would help him find his wife and home. He calmed down and just kept saying "thank you for stopping" over and over again. When the paramedics came, they immediately got him out of his car and took his blood sugar.
We stood there and they told us the number, their eyes huge.
"I have no idea what that number means," I told them, embarrassed that I knew so little about blood sugar.
"It means," the paramedic, who was not helping the man, "that he would have gone into a coma in just a few minutes, possibly seconds, if we didn't get here. You probably saved his life."
They took the man off in the ambulance and John and I went on our date, slightly shaken and feeling like nothing really mattered as much as that man being ok.
It took fifteen minutes away from our date to stop and help that man and wait until the paramedics arrived. Sure, we didn't make the movie, but after something like that . . . a movie seems so silly.
I lie in bed sometimes and feel so grateful I listened to that little voice that told me to stop for that man. How easy it would have been to just drive passed? We almost did. And who knows what would have happened if we did. I don't like to think of that.
But that day . . . we stopped.
When Phoebe and I drove by those girls in the old broken down car, Even though we were late, and I was sort of bugged to have to pull over and stop, I remembered all the people who had stopped and helped me. It didn’t matter if someone else would stop later, it was my turn to give them a gift of my time. To make them feel that they weren’t alone in this big world, that someone saw them and cared.
Even though I couldn't push it alone, when I ran out there, people did come to help.
And they always do. We all want to do the right thing, I think, we just don't know how or feel shy or worried or just scared. But once someone leads the way, I think people will always join in to help.
And I think, I hope, after they see an act of kindness and then participate in it, they will be faster to stop and run out and help the next time.
We may begin alone, but we almost never end alone.
And that's what I told Phoebe, "We all feel alone and broken down sometimes. All it took, Phoebe, was one person stopping and then people came to help. Always remember that. If no one is stopping, be the one to stop and help, and when you see someone who is trying to help, stop and be their back up. Everything is easier when there are many hands."
It is these moments, when we reach out and help one another, fellow humans on this crazy roller coaster ride of life, we realize how utterly beautiful it is. It's these connections with strangers who become life long memories that make our days worth while.
So here's my hope for all of us, be the first one to stop. Be the first one to offer a hand. Be the first one to send a text of love and understanding. Be the first to say I'm sorry. I love you. I'm proud of you. I'm sorry you're having a bad day. What can I do to help? You are beautiful. I am here for you. You are important.
You matter.
Because, at the end of the day, I think we really are each other’s keepers. We are our brother and sisters keepers.
And Karma is real . . . What you give out, comes back a thousand times. ANd these days, who doesn’t need some good Karma?
And as usual . . . my photo gallery of how I am experiencing this beautiful life . ..
(and yes, I did see another snake, but this week . . . NONE! this is a good sign for all of us)
John's 47th year birthday pies
my garden . .. it's starting to grow
love . . . in baby flesh
outdoors with my babies . . .
so hard and so worth it
cousins . .. family. .. love
a little surprise of love . . . made our month
For the beauty of the earth . . .
gardening in the rain . . . joy
plants just starting to grow . . . a reminder to know the world is unfolding as it should and to have hope . . .
love
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