Wonder Women
Something subtly inspiring happened today in the context of a frightening situation, and I feel compelled to write about it.
At 8:00 this morning, my doorbell rang. My immediate thought was, "Oh my god who on earth is bothering me at 8 on a snow day?" Then I thought, "If this were a normal day, we would all be at work and school, so maybe solicitors come this early every day. I wouldn't know. Bastards." I tore my pajama'd self away from my work computer and descended the stairs trying to figure out how to cover my indecency while also being firm in my no-soliciting rule.
I opened the door to find a woman in her late 60's with a nervous look on her face. She said through the door, "I am a nurse for Mrs. O'Connor and I cannot get into her house. Do you have the lockbox code?" It took a moment for me to connect the dots of what she was saying.
1. She was not trying to sell me something, so I should put my freaking guard down.
2. She was one of the nurses for the elderly neighbor two houses down.
3. She needed help...because she was worried about the woman's safety.
Once my adrenaline kicked in, I was back on track. I did not have the code and suggested one of the other neighbors. I gave her my name and offered for her to stay in my house while she figured it out, or to wait with her in her car if that would help. She thanked me but declined and said that she would call her employer if the neighbor I recommended did not yield the code. She then told me that her name is Ruth.
It's hard for me to hear that name and not think of my late aunt. It was like she was calling to me to PAY ATTENTION; that something big--some message--was going to be delivered. This snow day--with no snow, mind you--was not meant as a break from school. It was entirely about me being here at this moment. Do not miss the message.
I slowly closed the door and called for my 14-year-old to explain the situation and alert him that he might need to watch his younger brothers on a moment's notice. I also asked all three of them to clean up a bit in case Ruth decided to stay warm in our home. Then, in my newfound efforts to be more mindful, I took stock of what I was feeling.
Fear.
I was afraid that something had happened to Mrs. O'Connor. I worried that she was in pain or that she had passed without anyone beside her. I was concerned that I would have to help physically bash in the door to her house and that I was not strong enough to do so. I worried that even if the door opened easily, that I would then need to witness something horrible. I worried that I needed help, and the only one I could call on would be my son, who was too young to witness whatever was inside.
I got dressed while the boys prepared the house. Then, I threw on my coat and went outside to see if she had had any luck. I found her at a different neighbor's house, talking to the woman of the household, my friend Mary. I knew that Mary would not have the code, so I jogged over to talk to Ruth and relieve Mary from the confusion. I pointed to the house I intended for her to go to and she went there, while I went to explain to Mary the situation. She offered to help and asked to be kept in the loop.
As I walked away, my new next-door neighbor, Kate, walked toward me holding her cute little 18-month-old son, Joey. We talked a bit, catching each other up on the situation, apologizing to Ruth outside of her presence for having answered the door in pajamas, and then made a deal. When Ruth got the code, Kate, who is a nurse, would enter the house with Ruth and I would watch Joey. Ruth came over to us and we relayed the plan. She was so grateful for not having to do this on her own, and for Kate being a nurse and insistent on helping. As was I!
We went back to our homes to prepare. I explained the plan to the kids and said that the toys that were too small for a little one needed to be brought upstairs, and anything appropriate for a baby brought downstairs. They did so willingly, with excitement and impressive skill! In the middle of this sort of frantic re-organization, my phone rang. It was Kate. Mrs. O'Connor was fine! The door had swelled overnight and she couldn't open it.
All was well.
I let Mary know. She was so glad and had made arrangements for someone to watch her boys in the event she, too, was needed.
And then it hit me. I texted her, "I kind of love our cul-de-sac of women warriors, though."
"Yeah. Totally!" she responded.
There's something about everyone dropping everything to help in any way they could. There's something about it being only women and children helping another woman. And, there's something about realizing that you are in a true community--a village--that will support you if needed and without question or hesitation (other than to get changed out of pajamas).
It felt like a fire drill. A test of the support system. A reminder that I am part of one; that I am needed sometimes for something bigger than family or friendship and that I have a web of safety I did not even realize was there. Community is important. And, I am grateful to be part of one.
At 8:00 this morning, my doorbell rang. My immediate thought was, "Oh my god who on earth is bothering me at 8 on a snow day?" Then I thought, "If this were a normal day, we would all be at work and school, so maybe solicitors come this early every day. I wouldn't know. Bastards." I tore my pajama'd self away from my work computer and descended the stairs trying to figure out how to cover my indecency while also being firm in my no-soliciting rule.
I opened the door to find a woman in her late 60's with a nervous look on her face. She said through the door, "I am a nurse for Mrs. O'Connor and I cannot get into her house. Do you have the lockbox code?" It took a moment for me to connect the dots of what she was saying.
1. She was not trying to sell me something, so I should put my freaking guard down.
2. She was one of the nurses for the elderly neighbor two houses down.
3. She needed help...because she was worried about the woman's safety.
Once my adrenaline kicked in, I was back on track. I did not have the code and suggested one of the other neighbors. I gave her my name and offered for her to stay in my house while she figured it out, or to wait with her in her car if that would help. She thanked me but declined and said that she would call her employer if the neighbor I recommended did not yield the code. She then told me that her name is Ruth.
It's hard for me to hear that name and not think of my late aunt. It was like she was calling to me to PAY ATTENTION; that something big--some message--was going to be delivered. This snow day--with no snow, mind you--was not meant as a break from school. It was entirely about me being here at this moment. Do not miss the message.
I slowly closed the door and called for my 14-year-old to explain the situation and alert him that he might need to watch his younger brothers on a moment's notice. I also asked all three of them to clean up a bit in case Ruth decided to stay warm in our home. Then, in my newfound efforts to be more mindful, I took stock of what I was feeling.
Fear.
I was afraid that something had happened to Mrs. O'Connor. I worried that she was in pain or that she had passed without anyone beside her. I was concerned that I would have to help physically bash in the door to her house and that I was not strong enough to do so. I worried that even if the door opened easily, that I would then need to witness something horrible. I worried that I needed help, and the only one I could call on would be my son, who was too young to witness whatever was inside.
I got dressed while the boys prepared the house. Then, I threw on my coat and went outside to see if she had had any luck. I found her at a different neighbor's house, talking to the woman of the household, my friend Mary. I knew that Mary would not have the code, so I jogged over to talk to Ruth and relieve Mary from the confusion. I pointed to the house I intended for her to go to and she went there, while I went to explain to Mary the situation. She offered to help and asked to be kept in the loop.
As I walked away, my new next-door neighbor, Kate, walked toward me holding her cute little 18-month-old son, Joey. We talked a bit, catching each other up on the situation, apologizing to Ruth outside of her presence for having answered the door in pajamas, and then made a deal. When Ruth got the code, Kate, who is a nurse, would enter the house with Ruth and I would watch Joey. Ruth came over to us and we relayed the plan. She was so grateful for not having to do this on her own, and for Kate being a nurse and insistent on helping. As was I!
We went back to our homes to prepare. I explained the plan to the kids and said that the toys that were too small for a little one needed to be brought upstairs, and anything appropriate for a baby brought downstairs. They did so willingly, with excitement and impressive skill! In the middle of this sort of frantic re-organization, my phone rang. It was Kate. Mrs. O'Connor was fine! The door had swelled overnight and she couldn't open it.
All was well.
I let Mary know. She was so glad and had made arrangements for someone to watch her boys in the event she, too, was needed.
And then it hit me. I texted her, "I kind of love our cul-de-sac of women warriors, though."
"Yeah. Totally!" she responded.
There's something about everyone dropping everything to help in any way they could. There's something about it being only women and children helping another woman. And, there's something about realizing that you are in a true community--a village--that will support you if needed and without question or hesitation (other than to get changed out of pajamas).
It felt like a fire drill. A test of the support system. A reminder that I am part of one; that I am needed sometimes for something bigger than family or friendship and that I have a web of safety I did not even realize was there. Community is important. And, I am grateful to be part of one.
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