Leaving the Mission; leaving family...

Yesterday was my last day volunteering at the Mission. I went in late, cramping and in a crabby mood. I spilled hot coffee on myself, got bossed around, and was called 'one of those clumsy girls.' It was not a good start to my day...

Towards the end of my time there, I was pouring coffee for one of the regulars. She has her days; sometimes she comes in as Margaret; and then the next day "Margaret is not there." And she usually talks to herself, sings to herself, and is generally a loner. She calls me her sweetness... she says she likes my smile. Yesterday out of the blue she asked what was wrong with me. I was taken back. I didn't realize my crabbiness was showing or could be felt by her... and then it hit me.

When I started there, I had to work to gain the trust of the people who came. I guess street life is based on a trust system and new people are not welcome... they have to prove themselves. I guess I did. But every week I would go to the Mission and give two hours of my time and it was just that, giving time away. Yesterday it hit me that these people are my family and I was theirs. Every week they yell at me, smile at me, chastise me, encourage me, put up with me, clumsy and all... And the next week the cycle starts again. We are family.

I left the Mission in tears. Once again, I am leaving people I care about and realizing too late that they have impacted my life more than I know...

Here's to continuing the journey and remembering family...

images from google images