adventures in volunteering

I was volunteering recently with eight year old girls for Girl's Inc. Just an hour, once a week for six weeks. They run cycles four times a year.  This was week five, our second to last class together. The girls were sitting in small clusters around round tables drawing pictures of themselves doing something amazing and eating their lunches. I walked around, asking the girls what they were drawing and encouraging them to finish eating, they are always very animated and want to tell me a million stories. I've never felt so popular.

 

The girls are from a variety of different home lives and backgrounds. Some are very poor. Even in third grade they are starting to realize who are the 'haves' and who are the 'have nots.' They don't do it meanly, it's almost like some invisible force is pulling them into groups. It's heartbreaking sometimes, but this group is always polite and kind and encouraging to one another. They were willing to share and eager to answer questions and so candid with their responses that many times I had to smile to hold back a laugh. No one feels afraid to speak up for fear they will be ridiculed, which I admire so much in them and wonder how long they have like this.

 

As I was circulating around and finding out how every one's week was going, one girl motioned me over excitedly. She always has a broad smile, unbrushed hair, and clothes that don't quite match. She's confident and social to everyone and undoubtedly, a 'have not.'

 

"My mom had her baby!" She exclaimed with happy excitement. 

 

"OH MY, that's wonderful" I gushed back,  "A little brother or a little sister!"

 

"A little sister,' she said suddenly sounding a little shy.

 

"Well what did she name her?" I encouraged.

 

And then she hesitated and looked back down at the picture she was drawing of herself kicking a game-winning goal during a soccer game. She'd mentioned to me in an earlier class that she was very athletic.

 

"We didn't get to name her, because, the family that, that, that adopted her will name her." She said carefully. She looked heartbroken, but not in tears.

 

I was so taken aback with her willingness to share and her bravery and honesty at the situation that I didn't know what to say. Another girl at the table, having overheard as kids are wont to do, piped up quickly with a "Why? Why don't you get to keep your sister?" Not meanly, but just with genuine interest at what surely seemed like a strange situation to her.

 

"Well," hesitated the first girl, "That couple couldn't have a baby...so....." That's when she trailed off and sat staring at her toes.

 

"How wonderful of Morgan's mother to do such a kind thing for that family." Was all I could think to say. Because what can you say? She's eight. She doesn't get to have a baby sister and it just isn't fair.

 

Eight year olds know much more than most people give them credit for and she knew more than she'd been told in words. She knew that her Mom couldn't keep that new little sister and seeing it was heartbreaking.

 

Maybe she'll be fine and she'll cope and grow and go on to win hundreds of soccer games. But sometimes I catch myself wondering what would have been the right thing to say. How could I have helped her carry the load? What if she doesn't have anyone else to talk to?

 

Working with those girls has been a wonderful and eye-opening experience. And it's given me new ideas to consider as I try to figure out my career path. If you have even an hour a week I'd highly recommend volunteering your time to give a girl someone to talk to.

 

Sara

 

 

 

life doesn't play fair -part 2

This is a continuation of yesterday's post, so you may want to go read it, or you will probably be lost.



Almost immediately Eric and my mother are taken into an ER exam room, which to be honest is kind of surprising for a college town ER on a weekend morning... considering the one Sunday morning in college I needed to go to the hospital for a foot x-ray resulted in a seven hour ordeal.


They sit in the exam room, my mother's lips pressed into a straight line, most likely rifling through her purse to keep her hands busy out of worry, as she glances frequently at my now almost gaunt 18 year old brother, the football player, the hard hitter, the one who has been puking his guts out and running into walls the past two weeks, while still completing grueling practices and adjusting to college, the one who can now barely get out of bed. They wait for the doctor and hope for the best.


"Oh my, I can smell it from the doorway. Come here and let me smell your breath." Sounds the initial greeting from the Doc. He just arrived and he already knows what's going on here.




After some tests to confirm, the case was cracked and a diagnosis was reached: Type 1 Diabetes.




When they brought Eric into the hospital, his blood sugar was above 550 and he was entering Renal failure.




I know nothing about blood sugar, but according to my compulsive research,  a reading of 90 is normal in the morning. I do know what Renal failure is, or at least enough to recognize that you don't want your major organs or those of anyone you love and care for shutting down for the hell of it. The way our body says "I'm done."

 Just absurd.

 Thank goodness for mothers and their tingly spidey-sense feelings when something is wrong with one of their children.



And Eric will be fine, a fact for which I am so, so grateful. He was kept in the hospital for a few days until they could get his sugar levels down and teach him how to measure and administer the correct amount of insulin for his body. I went and visited him on Monday and he seemed okay. As okay as someone whose life is shifting underneath them without warning. As okay as someone can be hooked up to machines and unsure of what's to come. I'm grateful that my brother has the resources available so that he may learn to resume a life as close to his now as possible, with time.




But I'm also so, so angry. It's the side of me that wants to let out my fiercest growl start shouting toward the sky. The side of me that is confused, and hurt, and pissed- because the shell of invincibility I had fully believed  was extended around myself and those closest to my heart, swaddling us like a blanket from anything terrible- well, let's just say it was a mirage of mind.

 And it could be much, much worse. And I'm truly grateful that it's not. But this is a serious chronic condition.




The lifelong kind, where you have to monitor your every move. So all the sudden, Eric might not get to play college football, the thing he hinged all his decisions on and worked for almost his whole life.
 How do you tell a healthy, smart, regimented 18 year old, who is reaching for the stars and just starting the part of his life that's actually HIS OWN that he can't work out with the rest of his friends because you don't yet know how certain insulin amounts will react with his blood when he's exercising? Or that if he hadn't been brought in RIGHT THEN he would likely have fallen into a coma he'd have never woken up from? I don't know.

I just don't know anything.


I mean, I supposed I know it could be SO SO SO much worse, but at the same time all the sudden my baby brother has this huge thing to carry with him for always, influencing almost every decision he makes for the rest of his life. No drinking or partying or last minute road trips or ice cream stops or maybe even football, for now. Isn't that what being 18 is all about? Can you imagine not being able to grab one of those suckers from the bank or share a soda with your significant other, or just snack for the sake of snacking? For Christ's sake, I SNACK ALL THE TIME.

It feels like maybe there's been some mistake.

Life is this wonderful, exciting, intoxicating ride that sends you on all sorts of adventures and puts good music in the speakers and gives you so much.

But it just doesn't play fair.

Or maybe it's just incredibly fragile.

Like I said, I don't know.
Xo Sare