a roof

Earlier I had the pleasure of meeting a most delightful couple.
Warm, welcoming smiles. Though it was clear that there was pain and hardship and a struggle to keep the hope alive.
Good, kind, hardworking people.
A delightful couple who, due to circumstances beyond their control, find themselves calling this container home. 
They aren't feeling like they can see the light at the end of this tunnel. Who knows what they've weathered over the course of their lifetimes. But this is not what they'd hoped for after a decades of work. And this shouldn't be what they settle for. 
One could indeed argue that they at least have a roof over their heads. Better off than some. Better off, perhaps, than many.
But here on this island? How on earth can this be?

thankful

I had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman recently. 
The conversation with him typically begins like this:
"Good morning, sir. How are you doing today"
"Well, I'm good. Everything is alright. I'm thankful"
You can hear the smile through the phone, the joy in his voice. He truly is thankful for another day, for life, for health, for the love and support around him. There are a great many things that this lovely gentleman does not have. But he doesn't let that get in the way of how he feels each and every day.
Thankful. 

that old book cover ...

We're all pretty familiar with the old 'don't judge a book by its cover' line. It occurred to me that it's quite easy to drive around this little island and, even if some of the sights off the beaten track aren't close to perfect, decide that things are ok. That the house over there that may look somewhat run-down is still, in fact, an okay place to live. A roof over a head is a whole lot more than some have. 
Then I went inside. Inside one of those places that looks 'okay' from the outside. It is very definitely not okay at all. The first visit was just after it had rained for a few days. It was a challenge to find a genuinely dry patch of floor. Piles of wet towels here soaking up the water, puddles over there. The dreaded smell of damp. The mould covering the living room walls and ceiling. The feeling in my chest from breathing that in. The horror knowing that this mother and her little girl breathe this in constantly. From one space to the next, one sight after another, my heart sink further and further. That feeling of despair. That impossible feeling trying to imagine what this mother feels every single day. The ache in my heart listening to the mother describe the feelings of utter hopelessness and of just wanting to give up. 
All of this, hidden inside a cover that appears to be okay.  Never judge that book by its cover. There is simply no knowing what is on the inside. That inside hidden away from the eyes of all those who pass by. Never judge.

84 years

One delightful matriarch.
4 children. 
Special needs.
5 grandchildren.
Little money. Little support. Little food.
Optimism. Smiles. Hope for brighter days.
A well-worn Bible.
The vast majority of 84 years spent here. 
Raising a family.
Loving a family.
Accepting what is.
Smiling. Always a beautiful smile.

invisible

As I turn down yet another road that I've never traveled along before, on this tiny & incredibly wealthy island where I grew up, I am shocked by the neighbourhood that stands before me. Never mind that I'm shocked at what I see. I'm shocked and horrified that all this stands in plain sight, yet so well hidden. Just off the main road. Just behind a new apartment development. Just behind a business. Just behind a wall. Just behind some greenery. Just somewhere over there, hidden well enough to go largely unnoticed. Invisible.

life & joy

These beautiful kids are so full of life and joy and hope. 
They have never failed to greet me with anything other than a huge smile spread across their little faces. 
They are curious and interested. 
They ask all sorts of questions. 
They are a delight to chat with. 
Their home life isn't easy. Food is in short supply. 
But the smiles are always there.
And they never fail to add an extra dose of sunshine to my day.

the grandfather

I didn't have a grandfather living anywhere near me growing up, so my warm & fuzzy childhood memories of the grandfather are few. But the images that I do conjure up of grandfatherly love involve a chair that is warm and cozy, maybe near a window with a lovely view, or near a fireplace for those in colder climates. The images that I conjure up do not involve a chair placed under a crudely constructed shack, surrounded by piles of empty booze containers.

But that is exactly the grandfather that 4 beautiful and lively young children come home to. They seem too young to understand. Instead, they accept him and love him just as he is.