Irony hangs in the billowing clouds of dust tracing trucks across the dirt parking lot, bringing relief supplies for hurricane victims. Grey paint flecks and cracks around rusty splotches on the metal awning over the dock, heat of the September afternoon causes it to pop at random intervals, the tick of a broken clock. Like ants to their hole, vehicles march to the off loading point filled with stuff...toys, clothes, water, food and boxes of blood stained rags.
Splatters of faded brown blood dance across the off white terry cloth rags, brought from the hospital where they can no longer be used. My afternoon is spent digging through clear plastic bags, stuffed in corrugated cardboard boxes, separating the usable, minimally stained from the completely nasty.
Bags after bag, after bag, after bag...
The good ones are folded, while the others are put in a pile for destruction. Rubber gloves do nothing for the distinctly human smell that rises each time the flaps were folded back on a new load, causing nose hairs to twitch in retreat. I start to wonder who would use these?
Giving voice to my question, another aid worker explains they are used for rescued animals who may one day be returned to their owners. I won't lie my first thought is why am I doing this when I could be helping someone. Then my thoughts catch on a family, having lost everything, one day seeing the puppy they love race across the lawn into their waiting arms, and that making all the difference in the world.
One life touches one life, touches one life...and life gets a whole lot better.
[Thanks for all the love on my previous post. It meant a lot to me.]