Those of you who know us know it wasn’t always good. I know why. That doesn’t matter. I’m challenging my community to be better. I posted this for them tonight:
I want to tell you a bit about my dad. He was a pharmacist, owned a small business in Central Mass, Gardner, to be exact. Independent. They barely exist now. He told me once that a big part of what he liked about what he did was the connection with people. Old people, our parents, grand-parents, whatever, are often lost, disconnected from community. Except my dad. Their pharmacists and their doctors were all they saw outside of their homes. I won’t say I had a good relationship with my dad, yet there was a lot him that I’m proud of. The funny thing is that I’m shouted at, criticized, for what I should be doing by people who know nothing about me. A recent comment: “you should work for a food bank”. Ironic. I did. Hence the words, the thoughts, about my dad. Melrose, our city government, started a COVID relief food delivery program. I started in May 2020. Did more than 200 deliveries. What I found? It was what my dad talked about. Each week it took more time. I asked for the same route. I got to know people. Shut it, in one case, immune-compromised. The people my dad worked to serve, to take care of. The route started taking longer each week. One person said “you’re late”. I replied “I talked to ____ too long”. She understood.So why say this? There are still some people that are seriously struggling. I mean, can’t stay alive, can’t deal sort of thing. They might be a neighbor, a friend, or a family member. Or it may be you. Even if we, you, many have not been sick, COVID, the disconnection from what we knew is real. It hurts in unimaginable ways. Stop yelling at me. Pay attention to the message, not the messenger. Recognize many need help. Your help. And mine.