you have to wonder

I was reminded of it last night. That every single day I get asked for help. And I am not even on the front lines anymore. It was worse then. Dozens of times a day, from the mundane needing to use the phone or needing some formula for your baby to the desperate having no place to sleep. Every single day. Help.

Yesterday a woman called me, freshly battered by her husband. Three kids and nowhere to go. Help. A colleague called. She'd found a homeless man with an eight week old baby. Mom split. He holds him like a football she said. They have no place to sleep. Help.

Every day I am asked for help. For ten years and counting. Help. Need. Help. Today I will get asked for help.

You have to wonder what that does to a person, running across all this pain. What it does to one's soul. And no wonder I often think everything is fucked. Or not. Sometimes it's beautiful, all this suffering. Help.

I forget to notice until I remember. I remembered last night. I felt it deeply for the first time in a long time. It's my job. All this help. I'm not complaining, just wondering. Lots of us go through this. Doctors, every 15 minutes. Teachers, non-stop.

How do you get asked for help?

Speaking of, it's the last day to send me your Just Posts. Our Roundtable is coming up. Send them to me at girlplustwoATyahooDOTcom. Help.