The holiday season is a time many of us look toward each year. Halloween serves as a gateway for the beginning. Thanksgiving reminds us Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa and The New Year are not far behind. We picture this as the time all of our troubles will melt away and joy will fill take their place. I was no different last year as I was going through difficult times. Not one to stand in my own muck and mire, I volunteered at the local soup kitchen for Thanksgiving. The organization is call TASK standing for Trenton area soup kitchen
I called in and was given for the 1:00 shift. I arrived at 10 a.m. anyway and went immediately to work. The volunteers do a variety of jobs. You can serve the food trays to the clients, work the food tray assembly line, clean up or man the roving coffee and fruit carts. The clients are seated at long tables and served. I chose to remain on the serving line, which wrapped across the front of the kitchen serving counter and down the left side of the hall.
In this particular year, there was an abundance of servers mostly from the Trenton suburbs like myself. There were a large number of high school and college aged kids. Many of them adults and kids alike would get on line serve a tray then take a twenty-minute cigarette, chat or meal break. Few like me kept working nonstop. None of us was like the one little Hispanic woman, Maria, who seemed to be everywhere.
Maria worked the assembly line, clean up, both roving carts and then got on the serving line right behind me. I took the opportunity to compliment the woman on efforts. She returned the gesture in kind by noting she noticed I was the only other person who hadn't stop to eat or take a break. We introduced ourselves and somewhere moments later she just blurted out, "So what are you recovering from?" It took me by surprise, but I came back quickly with, "Divorce and you?" She answered plainly, "I'm four years clean and sober from drugs and alcohol." Maria's honesty was disarming but I kept pace, "I'm newly clean from a sobering divorce but the other half is having a withdrawal problem." She laughed and we continued to talk as we did our serving circles.
Maria was a single mother with three kids. Her husband was on the wrong end of a drug deal gone bad some time before. Five years ago, she spent Christmas in Detox for the third and last time. Maria swore she would never do that to her kids again. She eventually got two jobs and off public assistance two years ago. They didn't have much, but everything was their own. Even when she was still receiving public assistance, she would volunteer at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Christmas. She explained that being sober she realized even when you don't have anything, you do have something to give. She planned this to be a special Christmas for her family. A pack a day smoker she cut back slowly to two packs a week. For everyday she didn't buy a pack, she put the money into a Christmas fund. For the first time she had more than five hundred dollars to spend on the family for the holiday. As Maria talked, she had a twinkle in her eye and happiness buoyed her words. Christmas being on a Sunday meant the soup kitchen was closed and the day would be just for the family. I knew that day I had made a special friend.
A year past and this Thanksgiving I signed up to start at the soup kitchen 8:30 a.m. I looked forward to seeing my friend Maria from the year before. This Thanksgiving Day was different from last year. It was cold and rainy. There were fewer people and not many from the year before. This year's crew had to work harder and didn't take many breaks. I found myself doing my best imitation of Maria the year before. Preparing, setting up, clean up, garbage wheelbarrow detail, serving and both coffee and fruit carts. As good as I felt about the day I was disappointed about not seeing Maria.
Being one of the last to leave, I mentioned to one of the staff about having met this woman last year, Maria. He described her right down to the cigarettes and three kids finishing with, "is that who you mean?" I said, "Yeah." Nonchalantly, he explained she had a slip last summer and did some bad stuff. His last words were "That was it. It happens all the time here and you lose a lot of the good ones." He shook my hand and walked off.
The wind blew through me as the rain trickled down. The car was across the street, but the walk took forever. The upcoming Christmas is on a Monday. The problem of my ex still having lingering withdrawal difficulties a year later no longer mattered to me. I don't have much, but I do have something to give. I will be at TASK first thing Christmas morning celebrating the memory of Maria.
