My Brother’s Keeper makes 3,650 food deliveries each year serving 15,000 children and parents. With such big numbers, it could be easy to forget the sacredness of each single delivery.
A few days ago I went out on afternoon food deliveries with volunteers Elaine Ojala, Christine Kelleher, Jean Connor and her son Alex. We made stops at nine Brockton homes and each one touched me more than the one before. Our first stop was to Brent who has diabetes. He said how grateful he was that he got through on our Helpline which is very busy because, sadly, so many people need our help. At another stop, Patricia told us how hard things are right now and gave each of us a kiss on the cheek in appreciation. Two of our stops were to recipients who didn’t speak any English but showed their appreciation in other ways – like Antonio who smiled and flicked on the lights in the stairs for us as we left and Marcelina with her hugs and her contagious laugh.
The stop that moved all of us, however, was to Anabel. We were first greeted by her six year old daughter who came down from their second floor apartment to let us in. We followed her up the stairs to the kitchen and said hello. It took all five of us to carry in the delivery – a food box, milk, orange juice, eggs, margarine, meat, cheese, bread and several bags of fresh produce because farm vegetable donations are especially abundant in the summer.
Anabel, overcome by such an outpouring of generosity, began to cry as we put the items on the table. She was unable to say anything. She just stood there, quietly wiping away tears.
Elaine, a long-time volunteer, later reflected that when she left Anabel’s home she had difficulty composing herself, wiping away tears in her eyes as well. “I guess that delivery triggered a tender spot in my memory, one that I could relate to on a personal level.”
She explained: “Back in the late 60s when I was a new mother and a young college student, we had great difficulties making ends meet. But, somehow, we were blessed to always have food on our table for all 3 of us. We lived in a third floor attic apartment (probably illegal) with a narrow, winding stairway, but we were fortunate to have a small income from my then-husband who worked 2 jobs while going to school full-time. It wouldn’t have taken much, though, for us to have found ourselves in the same ‘predicament’ as Anabel, having to rely on someone else to put food on the table for her children. Anabel’s tears brought tears to my eyes, and for a brief moment, we locked tear-filled gazes. Neither of us could say anything for a few seconds. As I shook her hand upon leaving and choked out a ‘God bless you’, the grateful look in Anabel’s eyes said all that needed to be said.”
It’s special deliveries like Anabel’s that remind us how truly blessed we are, and what a privilege it is to meet and serve those who struggle with the most basic needs.