“In helping others, we shall help ourselves, for whatever good we give out completes the circle and comes back to us.” – Flora Edwards
Do something. Extend yourself.
This is no way to say goodbye to someone who has been your cornerstone, your love, your driving force, your partner, your rock.
Xavier Bowie was 57 and had lung cancer. Finding no one to take them out of New Orleans, he and his wife hoped the storm would spare them. “I’ve got electric and stuff right now,” she told herself. “I can keep going. I’ve got oxygen. I can keep going.” But the oxygen ran out.
As the Associated Press reported, “when Xavier Bowie died in a flooded neighborhood, his wife did the only thing she could think to do. She wrapped his body in a sheet, laid him on a makeshift bier of two-by-fours and, with a little help, floated him down to the main road outside the French Quarter, her husband’s body resting on the grassy median as car after car passed, their wakes threatening to wash over the corpse.”
I was driving home from a meeting recently and in a rush of emotion, I felt overwhelmed by all that I care about in the world and all the needs that I can’t fix—it breaks my heart that children are abused, that manatees are gnawed up by the motors of unthinking Sunday boaters, that there are people in the world who are literally starving to death as I type this, that…, that…, that…
I felt a physical sense of despair in that quiet moment on Merrimon Avenue between Jiffy Lube and Ingles, a sense that I could never do enough in this world, that it was too overwhelming, the need. Maybe it was the news of three little boys found dead in a car trunk in New Jersey in the next door neighbor’s driveway, or maybe it was the faces of Tsunami orphans, or the suicide of a popular downtown coffee shop owner in the Swannanoa River. It’s all those things, and more. It’s just bloody overwhelming; I feel so ill prepared, so inept, so inadequate to solve the gaping aches around me. And I feel so selfish sometimes when I simply walk away from need, when I close my door, when I say no or turn the channel.
And now, the hell that was New Orleans and Biloxi and their neighbors: unimaginable dislocation, death, destruction, drowning, all that people had in the world floating in an oily brew of stagnant water, including the bodies of loved ones. This is not an inconvenience or a rise in gas prices. No, these are people’s wild and precious lives.
What happens when our infrastructure collapses? Most of us will never know, not in this country, no. But some in the Gulf Coast of the United States know it harshly right now, up close and personal. While I’m brushing my teeth and using too much water in the shower, they know. While I’m talking on my cell phone and emailing this to you, they know. When I’m eating dinner cooked in my own kitchen and watching the waters rise in New Orleans on the evening news, they know. And they will know for a long time to come. And of course, the hardest hit are always those who were already the hardest hit, those who are always the hardest hit: the poor. How can they possibly rebuild their lives when their livelihood has been destroyed, just like their homes? Where on earth will they go when they leave the Superdome, that last safety net before the free fall?
The wave of horror I feel at the world’s pain has been revealed to me as a peculiar form of privilege; there is a sense of horror and a terrible sense of relief at the same time, if I am honest. I am not there, which allows me the luxury to have an intellectual response to this event. I must dig deeper into what it means to be connected to these people who are so affected; it is that intellectual response to tragedy that keeps us immune, that makes these tragedies all the more possible in the world. I manage my reaction to them by keeping them small tragedies, the size of my TV screen—I cannot allow that to happen and I must all at the same time. What am I doing about what’s happening in the Congo? Nothing. What am I doing about what’s happening in the Middle East? Nothing. What am I doing about starving children in the world, about starving children in my town, about the man with no shoes downtown? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
What can we do? It’s not enough to watch the news and feel empathy for those we see on rooftops waiting to be saved, or those we see desperate for water and food to give their children. It’s not enough to sit in the dryness of our own homes and criticize the relief efforts and wonder when on earth Mr. Bush might wrap up his happy vacation to take a look-see at the devastation. It’s not enough to wish you could help. You can and we must.
I urge you to contribute as much money as you can to the American Red Cross to help with this relief effort—not a comfortable amount, but a slightly uncomfortable amount, a dollar figure that will be different for each one of us.
Having served on their National Diversity Advisory Board and now on the Board of the local Red Cross, I know that they do good and important work on the ground, providing water, food, and shelter, as well as emergency and counseling services. We all know that the hardest hit will be lower income families in New Orleans and surrounding areas – the Red Cross is well positioned to provide aid to them. The money will go where it is needed. This is not the time to clean out your clothes closets and send boxes of toys and linens. At this stage, those gifts are a burden, not a help. Give cash.
Finally, about three hours after Xavier Bowie died, his wife flagged down a passing flatbed truck filled with downed tree limbs. Someone paid the driver $20, she helped load her husband’s body into the truck bed, then climbed aboard.
We cannot sit idly by.
~*~ 37 Days: Do it Now Challenge ~*~
We must consider ourselves part of the solution in order for any change to occur. We must give more than we think we can.
Donate to the Red Cross in memory of Xavier Bowie for these relief efforts. They know what they are doing and they do it well. They are mobilized and in position on the ground. Go to www.redcross.org and sacrifice something for this effort—stretch yourself. Do something bigger than yourself.
Also, if you are able to give blood, please do. Blood supplies are at emergency levels.
