Heather’s Van

People suck. This has been my motto since March of 2020. For practically a whole year, I have been angry with the entire population. As soon as the pandemic started, I put myself in a little bubble to keep safe. I would watch only a few minutes of news and refuse to spend time listening to others talk about the news. Like the experience of so many others, it was a year of fear and sadness and loneliness, but I was also angry and disappointed with people in general. The stress of the political divide was soul-sucking. Then watching my neighbors attack one another on our neighborhood social media site over the subject of masks and shut-downs was horrifying. I couldn’t even glance at Facebook or Instagram. People were vicious to one another. The whole thing was making me feel hopeless for humankind.

I realize there were also acts of incredible courage and kindness happening this past year too, but since I refused to watch the news, I didn’t get much of that information either. I gathered a pod together and put my head down, trying to survive emotionally until the pandemic eased its grip on us. Until people could be nicer to one another. I suppose I could have started with my own thoughts.

When I accompanied Nick on a business trip to Nashville last month, we drove up to Kentucky to spend a few days with my family. I was determined to spend a little bit of time with my nephews on this trip. Todd and Ethan, my sister Heather’s sons, are both barely getting around and are pretty much confined to wheelchairs, making it difficult to leave their homes. Both inherited a rare autoimmune disease called Chediak-Higashi Syndrome which looks a little bit like MS, and their health has been declining since they were teenagers. Todd hadn’t left his Dad’s house in the country for months and I was determined to go visit him. It was easier to see Ethan, who lives at Heather’s house, right next door to Mom. I told Heather that, next time we went to Family Trivia Night at the Brew Bridge, I was going to make sure Ethan could come with us. He had really wanted to come last time, but his transport was too much to handle. (We could have used his skills since we placed among the bottom few teams. I don’t think we took last place, but it’s possible.)

“I dumped Ethan out of the travel wheelchair at Walmart last week,” Heather told me after dinner at her house. She had barrelled up to the entrance, wheeling Ethan a little too fast, so when she hit the lip of the door, Ethan took a header out of the wheelchair.  “Now he won’t even go out anymore. That wheelchair is too small for him.” I asked Ethan how that had felt.

“Embarrassing,” he answered from his recliner. “Mom was just losing it and cussing like a crazy person.”

“I was! I didn’t know what to do. He’s too big for me to lift, so I just panicked. This nice guy came over, put his hands under Ethan’s arms and just pulled him back up into the wheelchair. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Can’t you get him a bigger wheelchair?” I asked.

“Well, he has an electric wheelchair, but there’s no way for me to get it in the car. What I wish I had is a handicapped van to get both Ethan and Todd in. I’ve been looking at them, but I can’t afford one. I even wrote a letter to the city asking if they’d donate one of their old vans since they got a whole fleet of new ones donated. They told me to look on Ebay.”

“You know what you need to do, is start a GoFundme campaign,” Nick said. “I know a disabled policeman in Texas who raised enough money to get himself a van.” 

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “What do you guys think?”

“Too embarrassing,” Ethan said from his recliner.

“I don’t know….” Heather said. “I hate to ask people for money.”

“I’ll start the GoFundMe,” Nick said. “I have 6,000 Facebook friends and 107,000 Twitter followers. We could do the campaign without identifying you guys.”

“Would that work?” Heather asked.

“I bet we could raise all the money that way,” Nick said. 

When Nick and I got back to California, we jumped on the computer immediately and within moments had completed the steps necessary to start the GoFundMe. Although we figured Heather could find herself a decent used van for around $30,000, Nick wanted to aim high, so set the figure at $40,000. Within moments, the donations started coming. 

“Are you seeing these donations?!?” Heather texted me. Within the hour, the figure rose to a few thousand dollars. “I can’t believe this! Who are all these people? I need to thank them.”

When I checked the list of donors, I recognized the name of a friend who lives down the street from us, an actor and all-around nice guy named David. “Oh my gosh, David donated $1000!” I said on the phone to Heather. As the week went on, more and more contributions came in. Most were friends or followers of Nick’s but some were from my list, dance friends who could spare a few extra dollars, acquaintances who I barely knew, people from all walks of life, people with money, people without money all giving.

“I can’t believe this,” Heather said when we reached the $9000 mark. “This is freaking me out. Why are people being so generous?”

“You know what, Heather,” I said. “Through all the troubles you’ve had, you’ve never once asked me for help. You never ask for anything. I see the struggles you go through with Todd and Ethan. Everybody does, but we just didn’t know the best way to help. Remember when I asked you a couple years ago what your plan was for taking care of the boys? You told me you didn’t have a plan, you’d just drink more beer.” 

“I still need to drink a lot of beer,” Heather said. We laughed.

“Sounds like a van is the next step of your plan. And people want to help,” I said. “My friend’s daughter had a brain tumor and her friends started a GoFundMe to help pay for her treatment. People came out of the woodwork to give.”

I told her about a fundraiser I helped organize in the Fall to save my dance teacher’s studio. Hama didn’t want to ask for money because he knew everyone was struggling to make ends meet during the shut-down, but it was possible he’d have to close if we didn’t step up. Hardly a single individual declined our cry for help.

I began to recall the numerous occasions on which someone asked for help on Facebook or a GoFundMe campaign or through email or word of mouth. I have witnessed not only friends and family, but strangers giving, even when they didn’t have it to give.

“People hear your story and they want to contribute. And I think that the generosity creates more generosity. I bet next time you see something on Facebook asking for donations for someone going through a hard time, you’ll remember this and give.” 

“I think you’re right,” Heather said. “I’m amazed.”

Wait a minute, what was I saying to my sister? People didn’t suck? People are good and kind and generous? What about my 2020 stance? Was I a victim of my own negative thinking, my entrenched perspective? This brought to mind my friend, Ted and a spiritual experiment he has been performing in which he refuses to let any negative thought settle in his mind. When he told me about it, I thought it was a great idea for him. I tried to practice it along with him, but forgot after about fifteen minutes. Well. Looks like I may have some work to do. (And I may have an idea for next week’s blog post.)

Due to the big winter snow-storm that hit Kentucky while we were there, I never got to visit with Todd. I’m hoping that, next time, we will pull up in his driveway in Heather’s new van. Family Trivia Night at the Brew Bridge, here we come!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-heather-buy-a-wheelchair-van?utm_campaign=p_cp%20share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer&fbclid=IwAR2DRiixxuI86XtRXj8wz2oh_l-gfcaswSQ8XkhmcDClxp9gy8UlL5SwGXY