Community

"Caring has the gift of making the ordinary special.” George R. Bach

Post-nap in my pain-medicated haze, I turned to see a bouquet of autumn-hued blooms on my night table. "Those are so beautiful." Tears streamed down my face as I looked at my husband, "I have such awesome people in my life."

I had surgery last week to remove a grapefruit-sized dermoid cyst and my left ovary; this was my third surgery involving these nasty benign tumor beasts.

I received an outpouring of love through texts, messages, social media comments, flowers, and care packages. My community once again lifted me during a time of fear and anxiety.

This community gathered around us after my nervous system implosion in 2021. And once again, when my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

And then, when he died.

My community is extraordinary, and I am grateful for each and every one of them.

Community.

There are various aspects of community.

There is personal community.

There is community within towns, cities, neighborhoods, and states.

There is widespread community that is tied through social media or because we once lived in a location and relocated but remain interconnected to that area.

My community is interweaved with people from where I currently live to those I've met during my family's relocations. It has changed over the years, as it should, but with each change comes an even higher level of love and empathy.

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On August 28th, my local community of Sioux Falls came together at Miller Funeral Home to show a baby boy who was found abandoned at a recycling center with tenderness and care.

They named him Gabriel James Doe.

The community's outpouring of love was beautiful because, in that moment, in that breath, people's religion, political affiliation, or culture didn't matter.

They were there to honor this child.

To show Gabriel he is loved.

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On September 26th, Hurricane Helene made landfall near Perry, FL.

500-mile track.

Her devastation is felt through many states, especially the Appalachians, where entire towns were swept away in muddy, raging waters.

Over 100 died, and that number will continue to rise.

Thousands missing.

Billions of dollars in destruction.

We lived in Raleigh, NC & Greenville, SC; we frequently visited Asheville and surrounding areas, and to see the devastation, it guts me. I am connected to people in those communities; thankfully, they are all safe, but everything they own is gone. Unfortunately, some haven't heard from loved ones in two days.

I have talked to some friends who shared how the community has come together.

Shelters. Water. Food. Search parties. Clearing debris.

Widespread communities, such as World Central Kitchen, disaster response teams, ambulances, nurses, and linemen, have joined to assist.

Everyone is coming together in all states affected.

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March 2023, during Dad's radiation, there was a group of us who sat in the waiting room at the same time for ten days. I was the youngest; most were women except for one man. Some days, we would talk, share where we lived, and about our families, and other days, we'd sit in silence, weighted with grief, but in the silence, we'd squeeze each other's hands or grab a cup of coffee or cookies for one another.

Or simply smile.

At the end of the grueling radiation sessions, one by one, their loved ones rang the bell, and we'd stand and cheer, clap, hug, and cry. When it was Dad's turn, everyone gathered around, and when he rang that glorious bell, there wasn't a dry eye in that waiting room, including Dad's. We knew the end game, but this was a victory worth celebrating. The cancer community wrapped their arms around us with love and kindness.

Community.

Humanity.

Whether it is my personal community or widespread, I see good, love, and empathy all around.

There is a heaviness right now, but that is where we thrive because love will always prevail, even in the darkest of times. I have seen it; I have experienced it time and time again.

It's there.

It's happening.

But sometimes, we see what we want to see even though the good is right in front of us.

I see communities' selfless acts.

Humanity.

I love my personal community, and I am proud of my local and widespread community, who show compassion and love no matter the circumstances.

Who give.

Who encourage.

Who show up with open arms.

Who want to see others succeed.

Who nuture.

Who want to lift up their community.

Who love.

Since 2021, I have lived a thousand different lives.

Upheaval. Change. Loss.

During those times, I didn't recognize my reflection, but I recognized and felt the love of my community.

Some couldn't be part of my community any longer because it didn't matter to them.

I didn't matter to them.

My family didn't matter to them.

Because they couldn't relate or the exact circumstances didn't happen to them, I was more of an annoyance than anything.

After my health crisis, one said, "You aren't the same person. I don't know who you are anymore."

Hell, I didn't even know who I was, but to no longer care about me because she hadn't experienced the same thing was heartbreaking.

However, I have gained more than I lost because, in this world, our communities have more love and empathy than we realize.

If you would like to help World Central Kitchen, here is their link to donate.