Survivor's Journey - On the Write Track

      "The reverse side also has a reverse side." That's a proverb, one that's been coming to mind a lot lately. I've been thinking of reaching out, and wondered, "What does that mean?" The proverb presents an answer - for me.

      I used to consider reaching out to be my asking for help when I needed it. Not anymore. My understanding of the phrase has expanded, thanks to a Vietnam veteran with whom I recently spoke. And that we even talked, I realize was a fluke; it's totally out of character for me to stop on the street and strike up a casual conversation with someone I see standing on the sidewalk. I made an exception, and I made a donation. I walked away feeling as if I had gained more than I gave; increased awareness.

      After I had given the man on sidewalk some money to assist homeless veterans, the gentleman, which he most definitely was, offered me a bumper sticker, in return, so that I could use my car to advertise a branch of the military, the Marines.

      I asked, "Are you a Marine?" Good guess. He was in uniform. He had been in the Marines. He had also been a homeless veteran. "You think I want to stick that on my car?" I asked. "Something's wrong with this."

      "You're right," he said. "Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"

      "I'm not accepting that sticker," I said. "Where were the Marines when you were homeless? How did you end up a 'homeless veteran'?" A philosophical challenge neither of us had the time in which to engage.

      "You could write Congress." He was obviously a pragmatic thinker. "Congress created the VFW."

      Admittedly, I needed time to think about that for awhile. If it were not for acts of war approved by Congress, then there would be no veterans of war.

      He handed me a pencil, for which I traded the bumper sticker. "You can use this to write Congress," he said.

      I can write Congress, as he has, to suggest that more information be distributed to veterans about how and where they may locate resources and support services.

      Reaching out, as it relates to me, is not only asking for help for myself, it is looking beyond myself and reaching out to discover ways I may assist others. It is broadening my scope, and understanding that total self-involvement doesn't do much for anyone else.

      Whether I choose to make donations, involve myself in political activism or engage in volunteerism, there are numerous opportunities all around for me to reach out. The telephone directory presents a list of agencies I may contact to offer time and skills, a positive way to channel energy while helping others who are also reaching out.

      Knowing that I'm not the only person who has ever experienced need, I can also make time to educate myself about others' conditions and circumstances.

      I know all-too-well how it feels to hear people make callous, insensitive, ignorant statements about arthritis, domestic violence, incest and rape. They have simply lacked accurate information needed to be more understanding of my perspective and of my feelings. The least I can do is, avoid inflicting ignorance on someone else who has reached out to me. I believe the only way I can be there for that person is to have an idea of what he or she may be experiencing. Self-education and accurate information elevate understanding and increase awareness. Making time and making an effort to learn more about others sensitizes us.

      "The reverse side also has a reverse side." That's reaching out.

Lost and Found
By Anne M. Cox
Copyright ©1993
Published Previously

Fear is a flame igniting my defenses;
    joking to ease nervous tension,
    laughing to mask hidden pain,
    turning to face shame's raw rhythm.
Silence is a baramoter measuring my discomfort;
    fidgeting to the tick of time,
    squirming to arrest the cadence,
    dissociating to advance the clock.
Memory is a device missing my calls;
    refusing to reveal all the pieces of abuses,
    leaving me to solve the riddle,
    driving me to recover.
Healing is a light illuminating my journey;
    exposing scars incest imposes,
    cleansing wounds of pierced years,
    leading to the lost and found.
Growth is a process presenting my rewards;
    helping me thaw emotion,
    encouraging me to erase self-hate,
    showing me survival is not a sentence.
Treatment is a spark kindling my hope;
    seeing promises flourish today,
    embracing treasures of tomorrow,
    holding healthier dreams, for a future.

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