Grandma seemed overwhelmed with the number of requests for money that came every day in her mailbox, for one organization or the other. Small children, certain illnesses, homeless animals. Many of them worthy causes. She learned as a girl in Russia that you help people who ask for it. You never fail to share with those less fortunate. But the sheer volume took space to store until money was available... and more notably it took emotional space. The more she gave the more frequentl y those envelopes would appear. There were piles of envelopes still waiting on her washer and dryer the day they moved her out of her home. I remember her standing there, walking from room to room as others decided what was kept and given away, what could be brought to what would be her new home now.
A bit at a loss for how to be supportive during such an important transition; independent decision-making to something else. She was a bit at a loss for how to contain and minimize the impact. I could see it in her face and how she paced into room after room. My darling grandmother.
Recently, following this same lineage of thought that I learned from my grandmother on whatever level/continuum of consciousness, I responded to someone I'd met on the internet. A young woman (supposedly). She was in trouble, and there wasn't anyone who could help. Needed help until next Friday when she could certainly pay me back. Could I do anything to help; it wouldn't be any problem to return the money... just waiting on a check. My heart went out to her, and I couldn't NOT help. Like Gram I didn't have much, but I gave until it started to hurt. She asked for more. I couldn't give it. She never returned my money. I keep wanting to say, 'At least I learned my valuable lesson,' but I'm not sure exactly what it is yet... Still chewing on it. I love you, Grandma!