Trip to the Food Bank

I don't belong here. I think it to myself over and over as I wait for my name to be called. I have my 14-month-old with me and he is blissfully unaware of our surroundings. We are at the food bank. We are not "regulars" like those who surround us.

I remember when I worked at the homeless shelter, they used to say that everyone is only three major life events away from being homeless. It was supposed to keep us humble. I was the only one working at the homeless shelter who was actually homeless.

It was only one major life event for me, unless you count all the steps in my relationship that led up to him beating me that day. The officer told me that I needed to pack mine and my son's stuff and leave before he got released on bond or they would be coming back to pick up my body. And I did.

I never thought I would have to go to a food bank to provide for my children, but I suppose no one ever does. It was over three years ago now since I left with my son. We found housing, I had a job, then a week before I found out I was pregnant with my little miracle I was diagnosed with MS. I continued working until maternity leave.

The postpartum hormones exacerbated my multiple sclerosis. About the time I was supposed to return from maternity leave, my doctor told me to apply for disability as I would never maintain "meaningful employment" again. It still took a few months to swallow my pride and apply.

I was denied. They say everyone is, but it doesn't make it any easier. If that's how the system works then it's a broken system. That broken system is why I sit in a food bank.

I have a lawyer. We are appealing the denial. But that doesn't put money in my bank account now and it takes 12 months to two years to get an appeal hearing. Everyone keeps saying how I'll get thousands in back pay when it finally goes through, but that is of little comfort as I try to make ends meet in the meantime.

I was getting child support for my older son. Another thing I never thought I would be. A mom waiting on child support, but life has a way of humbling us. He stopped paying again. He's $11,000 behind, but he's in another state and no one seems to care all that much.

People who have never had to go to a food bank don't understand anything about it at all. You can go once, maybe twice a month if it's a generous one. You get enough food for between one and three meals. Spaghetti, chili, canned soup, peanut butter.

Every second I feel judged. Every second I feel like I am failing my children. The workers are kind at this food bank. That's what makes this one my favorite. They have signs up about how we are all made in God's image, so everyone will be treated with dignity and respect. It makes me feel less like the dirt on someones shoe.

The people around me mutter about how they're not getting enough. They are disrespectful to the workers. I'm pretty sure that girl just shot up in the bathroom. I hope my son doesn't have to poop. I don't want to go in that bathroom.

As I drive away I feel relieved. I have food for my kids. One of the workers was sweet and when she told me I could pick one bonus item from the cooler, she told me there were chocolate-covered strawberries. I decided since my birthday is in a few days I'll take that as a treat to share with the boys. Two chocolate covered strawberries just about to turn bad. But today it lifts my spirit. Today, those almost spoiled strawberries give me hope that things will be okay, someday... in the future... I will survive.

I don't belong here. This is not where I will stay. I will not become a "regular," but I am grateful for the help at this stop along my journey.