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My kids are now old enough to want to design their own Halloween costumes, rather than doing a themed group costume with the family. So although I wore a simple red-and-white striped shirt and red-and-white pom-pom beanie for my "Where's Waldo" themed Trunk or Treat display, I didn't bother to wear a costume on Halloween itself. But I think I missed an excellent opportunity to dress up as Blanche DuBois from A Streetcar Named Desire.
Why that character in particular? Because I identify with many parts of her story. She was widowed young, resulting in a loss of income that terrifies her. Although she is clearly intelligent, she is sheltered and inexperienced in many ways, and lacks confidence in herself and her ability to navigate life on her own. She is worried about her future, and admits, in her own words, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."
Obviously, there are a lot of aspects of her character that I don't identify with. I'm not frantically searching for a new husband to look after me, I'm not an alcoholic, I'm not concerned about losing my looks, I'm not a social outcast, and I'm reasonably certain that I won't end up institutionalized. But I, like Blanche, am very much dependent on the kindness of strangers at the moment.
I'm dependent on the kindness of friends and family, too, of course. I could not have survived the past few months without the support of those closest to me. But I have been surprised, and moved, by the kindness also shown to me by strangers.
The many local businesses who do work around my house and yard, for example, have been flexible and kind in scheduling appointments and explaining to me what they're doing so I can do it myself in the future, going above and beyond the expected services. Several of the invoices I received clearly reflect a very basic service, when in fact they provided much more. One invoice from a local vendor even listed, "Cost of services: $X. Amount due: $0." Sometimes it isn't even people who know my current situation. I replaced my son's cell phone the other day, and when I thanked the technician for setting up the phone, commenting, "It was worth every penny of the service fee!", he paused and said, "I think I can refund that fee for you." And he did. It was an unexpected kindness, and it made a difference in my day.
Sometimes the strangers are acquaintances rather than tradespeople or vendors. Various organizations that my kids participate in have covered or discounted fees and offered transportation assistance. Volunteer positions I held but couldn't quite manage for a while were quietly covered by others stepping in, frequently by people I didn't know or at least didn't know well. I have a stack of books on grief and loss on my bedside table sent or recommended by friends of friends who have experienced a similar loss. I received letters of condolence from friends of my husband that I had never met, and from my own high school and college friends and acquaintances with whom I had long ago lost touch. But they felt the need to reach out to me and offer me kindness.
Kindness makes a difference. And after a loss, kindness is all the sweeter.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
-Excerpted from the poem "Kindness," by Naomi Shihab Nye (full poem here)
