Editor’s note: This column originally published March 10, 2016
I recently met Maria. I do not know much about her. I know she has three children, I know she has rent to pay, I know she has to provide and survive for her family. I know she matters.
The first and only time my girlfriend Betsy and I encountered Maria, she was standing outside the Pleasant Hill Hy-Vee around sunset. It was a chilly evening and the young woman in her late 20s to early 30s was wearing a tan soft leather coat with a sheep’s wool-lined hood covering a worn stocking cap. She was holding a white piece of cardboard carrying a message written in black marker which read: “I have rent to pay, and I need to feed my three children. Any food would help. Thank you.”
She was standing at the exit doors and the customers were entering and exiting the grocery store, going about their conversations and carrying their goods past Maria as though she wasn’t there. The young Hy-Vee employees, pushing red bins of redeemed cans and bottles into the store, wheeled by. Not one of the dozens of people walking past looked at her. But Maria and I made eye contact.
This is an all-too-common occurrence in the world, an occurrence that has been persistent since economies transitioned from village collectives to commerce-based systems. For some people society doesn’t work, and society chooses to ignore their struggle.
Betsy and I went into the store and we immediately split up. I gathered our groceries while she picked up bread, peanut butter, crackers, apples, bananas, apple juice, paper plates and plastic silverware — foods we thought kids would enjoy and could be stretched to last several days. We knew if we didn’t hurry, we’d miss our opportunity. As soon as store staff realized she was at the door, Maria would be asked to leave the property.
After going through the checkout we walked out the front door and said hello. We introduced ourselves and handed Maria the two bags filled with simple foods. We asked her name. Maria had an accent, possibly eastern European or perhaps Middle Eastern. We thought she could be a refugee, but Betsy and I didn’t ask. She was human. That is what mattered.
Betsy didn’t know what to say, so instead she gave Maria a hug. The young woman, with an exhausted smile, said “God bless you.” I touched Maria’s hand and told her to take care.
We returned to our car to catch our composure and to cry. We had just met Maria.
Contact Mike Mendenhall at
mmendenhall@jaspercountytribune.com