Today was a good day, good for healing from abuse. I work in the library at my son’s school for an hour each week. Today there were no books to shelve, so I was given the job of folding programs for the Christmas program tomorrow. Another volunteer worked with me, and we had a good chat.
Then afterwards, even on such a cold day as this, I found the two other parents in our “kaffeeklatch” talking outside, “Melissa” and “Brad.”
Brad has a daughter at this school, and Melissa has a son. Melissa lives in the complex down the block from mine, and whenever the weather is really bad, she drives my son to school. (Normally, he walks, and I don’t have a car.)
We like to either grab the one park bench, or stand some place while our kids play after school. We seem to be the only ones who do this, considering the jokes made by teachers who come by. Things like, When our kids leave that school, they’ll have to put a memorial plaque on the bench.
I don’t say much myself as the other ones chatter away, but sometimes Melissa will leave and Brad will stay, and we’ll talk for a while. But even if I don’t say much, I listen, and gather up all sorts of information which I store in my memory banks.
(Maybe that’s why I occasionally hear “I don’t know you that well” from people I know quite well.)
It’s little things like this that help in healing, as I feel less alone, more connected to the outside. It may not be a big deal to most people, but it is to people like me.