Just Trying to Help

Many people need help just living their lives. If you're lucky enough to not be one of them, there's that nagging guilt hanging over you--and I'm no Mother Teresa, believe me--to do something for someone less fortunate. But who? And how low are you willing to go, mood-wise?

I first volunteered at the Ronald McDonald House in Salt Lake City, allegedly to provide emotional support to family members of cancer-ridden children being treated at area hospitals. I thought it wouldn't be too bad--yes, there would be crying parents, but I could handle that. Turned out it was not depressing at all since I was a bookkeeper in the back office and never saw a soul with cancer, or even a bad cold. Ultimately, the lack of contact with anyone more miserable than myself got to me, so I quit; what was the point? Then we moved.

Once settled in our new city, my husband and I heard of volunteer opportunities at a nearby nursing home. Supposedly a group of the residents were eager to play Scrabble but couldn't remember how. We, being crossword freaks, thought that would be a fun way to do something nice for others. It wasn't. After one or two sessions the complaints started--turns out they all hated Scrabble. One mean old biddy was particularly abusive, accusing us of cheating. One day nobody showed up but us.

Undaunted and still brimming with good intentions, we then signed up for weekly meal deliveries to poverty-stricken invalids. We'd go to the senior center on Saturday mornings to pack up lunches, then, armed with a list of addresses, off we went, tooling around Washington, D.C. like Santa in his sleigh except on the ground and without reindeer, but with the same spirit of giving. Usually I waited in the car while Mitch went in and saw the horror of it all. He loved doing it and even befriended some of the regulars. At his urging I ventured inside a few times, but the images of quiet desperation behind those apartment doors haunted me, and so I went back to waiting in the car. Then we moved again.

Since coming to Maine, I've dispensed food at the local soup kitchen and visited the sick in the hospital. Both of those jobs were less than uplifting, especially the latter; I learned pretty quick that hanging around a hospital when you're healthy and not dressed in a white coat is just plain dumb. There are, after all, germs all over the place, not to mention tons of sick, dying and old people, and that's basically one losing trifecta.

I am now hoping to embark on a new "helping" endeavor that will again focus on seniors in assisted-living housing who are still healthy but technologically challenged. My assignment, should they choose to accept me, will be to teach them how to use computers and navigate the wacky web. This seems like a good idea for the elderly, since really, the Internet is all about staying connected, and you don't even have to stand up to use it. If it turns out to be a bummer, I'm moving.