"I'm just a nobody trying to help everybody." - Lawrence McRae, founder of the McRae Prostate Cancer Awareness Foundation, an everyday gentleman who took it upon himself to use his Social Security check to educate his fellow older black men on the dangers of prostate cancer in their community back in 2000. He was recently featured on the 'Today Show' on NBC.
We are a nation which admires those who extend themselves . . . only we don't see how we, too, can be those we admire.
On the one hand, we are bombarded with stories of people who 'make a difference' in the news and on TV programs. Movies are made which hail the efforts of individuals who step forward, take a chance, and do what others are afraid to do. Those who read the Bible are instructed that to God, the creator of an entire universe and beyond, each individual is counted and important to Him. We see and hear and absorb all of this into our hearts and minds, applauding the single-mindedness and willingness to bear burdens for another, or for others, and we often discuss the men and women behind the scenes.
But do we believe these actions to be so extraordinary and beyond the pale that only certain special beings are capable of carrying them out? Are we romanticizing the idea of sticking it out and helping the one, taking on additional life weight, to the point that we only recognize who needs such help on the other side, after someone else has filled the void? Have we sanitized the real faces with their real and often messy lives to fit a narrow definition of who is worthy of a leg up and who isn't? Or, are we afraid to involve ourselves too intimately with others, fearing repercussions, subconsciously more concerned with protecting ourselves than extending ourselves?
Everyone is having a tough time. I don't know one person who, despite their best efforts or charming personality or financial stability or cadre of friends, isn't facing a challenge of some sort in at least one significant facet of their lives. Granted, there are those with incredible ongoing hard luck stories that never seem to dry up, and those who are painfully whacked upside the head out of the blue. A few defy the standard parameters of empathy and understanding. Many are small in comparison to others but still manage to hurt because of where that person is in life. We've all got something. Sometimes a whole lotta something.
So, if we're waiting for our something to hop a bus and head for another state, it could be a lifetime of waiting. If we're waiting to be all better before we reach out a hand and allow another to hold on for dear life, they may just slip beneath the waters. If we're waiting to feel more courageous about telling someone the truth or sharing information they need to know, the words may dry up and die on our lips. Character waits for no man. Or woman. It's either there and one accesses it, or it's absent and one glosses over it. We either stand for something, or stand aside. I think you get what I'm saying.
For the most part, I am a support group of one to a man who spent roughly 17 years of his life incarcerated in a state surrounded by family. A lot of family. Many of them Christ-loving Christian folk. Good solid people leading busy full lives. And he's seen nary a one outside a few special visits by his brother on occasion. It's not that a few other family and friends have not visited or written or accepted calls over the years. They have. And my mom is in a whole other class of support. She's a mom. But on a regular basis, with a consistency that reminds him he's still alive and counted and yet a human being, it's me. I'm okay with that. My love and dedication to him is fierce. Strong. Vital. However, I'm only one little gal. A guy could use a positive male influence. A sounding board for guy talk. A man willing to hold him accountable and encourage him in brotherly love. He could use casual conversation with anyone other than a sister who knows every single thing about him and then some. People ask me to pass on well wishes. They cheer me on in my efforts. They marvel at our timeline and closeness through the painful passing of time. Those who knew him often wax a bit poetic about how very likable and funny he was and is. But they stop just short of actually getting involved.
To a point, I understand. He's a ward of the state. First as a prisoner. Now, an ex-convict turned psychiatric patient. It's messy, foreign, difficult to draw the boundary lines. To contemplate his life gives one pause, elicits compassion, but to enter his life reveals his wounds and warts. Much too uncomfortable. But lines could be drawn. A promise made to call once a week and talk for half an hour. Parameters which state "I'm here as a friend, but I can't send you money or stuff." He did not kill or rape. He's not a sociopath. No one was personally targeted and hurt in any major purposeful sense. He's been remorseful and apologetic. He's trying to get better. And, he needs to see non-judgement and forgiveness in action through everyday regular Joes and Josephines.
What pushes the knife a bit deeper for me is that my brother is one man out of tens of thousands of men, and women, in our correctional and mental health state systems. Having me in his life elevates him heads and shoulders above a majority of his peers; he has not been totally abandoned by the world which will one day have to reabsorb him into its ranks. His journey WITH support, with prayer and faith and hope, has been quite often excruciating, but he's still better off than most. That kills me. Without my belief in the Lord, I would probably have drowned in my sorrow, overwhelmed by the loss to humanity.
Because the prisoners and mentally ill citizens of this country, and, indeed, around the world, do not cease to be human because of their condition. They are not all irrevocably lost to a better life. But they must be made to believe they are not being further punished in freedom by their society for a debt they paid while incarcerated or institutionalized. It is not our job to further punish them or ostracize them. Each of us could educate ourselves a touch more on the issues and extend ourselves a touch more to the one. There's nothing so special and unique about me that can't be tapped within by almost any other person. I'm as flawed and tired and up and down and challenged as the next guy or gal.
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