Hope

Heather is a phenomenal woman. I first met her when we were both in our early twenties. We were quite a bit alike actually. We had the same views of the world, had the same upbringing, the same backwoods sensibilities and even the same home town. She and I worked in the same office and spoke briefly every single day. And in these numerous, but short interactions, we bonded and became very close. Close to the point of having long broken the touch barrier, as there would be some sort of contact each time we chatted, and we shared about four inside jokes. Inside jokes are a lot of fun. She would just walk by, trace her finger from my left shoulder to my right as she walked by and say "scarecrow" and we would both start laughing loud enough to the distraction of others.

But Heather, being a small town naive gal, also happened to have the stereotypical white trash boyfriend that had no clue that she was too good for him. She hadn't learned this fact yet either. And because they were young and stupid, she eventually found herself pregnant. Now Heather was about as slender as a 2x4. Long thin legs and arms, long curly hair that looked amazing in the wind and a frail looking, willowy body. About three months into the pregnancy, her body started to change. The straight line from her neck to her solar plexus suddenly started to bulge. And when I say suddenly, I mean over night, the boob fairy paid her a visit. It was this day that we actually developed a fifth inside joke. But lets hit the fast forward button. She had the baby, quit her job and I lost touch with her for a few years.

Then for reasons unexplained, I felt compelled to track her down. I looked through the phone book, called a few people and eventually found her. We set a time to meet after I came back from a business trip. That night, she introduced me to her three year old son, who was starting to show signs of cerebral palsy. And we spent the next twelve hours catching up on the last three years. That proved to be futile, but we did make arrangements to see each other again. And see each other we did for the next few months. I learned a lot about Heather. Mostly, I learned how strong she had become. And how to retain hope in a system that we are constantly told is broken.

You see, the father of Heathers son was not what you would call a consistent financial supporter. And she quickly found out that her job was barely covering the cost of her childcare and it was actually in her best interest to leave her job, stay home and get into the welfare system. She was receiving nearly every benefit there was available. And since her son was considered to be disabled, she was actually making more money by staying at home as she did while she was working. Her townhouse was rent controlled and quaint, however it was surrounded by other welfare families that absolutely fit the worst face ever painted on the system. She received $400 a month in food stamps, her rent was paid by one State assistance plan, while her health support for herself and her son was paid for by another. She drove a used car that her son's father had given her two years prior when he was not able to make a proper child support payment. And her greatest complaint was that now she was stuck. If she went back to work, she would lose all the benefits.
She felt lazy and unproductive and this made her very sad. Nearly depressed actually.

And I continued to spend time with her and our relationship grew and blossomed in a way that neither one of us could ever predict. And then I learned about hope. Heather refused to accept any money from me because she came to value my friendship and emotional support. I refused to let her worry about anything if it was in my power. The first thing that happened was that her estranged ex boyfriend was several thousand dollars behind in child support. I was at her place doing some odd jobs when we were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. When she opened the door she saw two men. The man closest to her was the deadbeat dad holding a money order for the exact amount he was in arrears. He profusely apologized and promised that he would never miss another payment. The other man she saw was standing by the curb. He was wearing dark sunglasses and had his hands folded behind his back. He was six feet tall, nearly three hundred pounds, bald except for a soul patch on his chin, and no neck. That was the day I learned, that if you father a child in Ohio and owe child support, they take it pretty seriously and WILL find you.

The money she got that day helped her pay some of her bills that were not covered by her government distributions. And in the next weeks, she once again gave me a reason to believe in the system. She called me and was about as excited as I've ever heard anyone. Why? Because she had just been accepted at Wright State University. Her tuition would be paid by the Welfare system. In two years, she would graduate with her nurses assistant degree. And in two years, I held her little boy in my lap as we watched his mommy walk down the aisle in her pretty gown and funny hat and take the treasured folder from the Dean of the Nursing School. I hugged her and kissed her cheek and we all ate as many tacos as we could and watched A Bug's Life. She put her son to bed and was so irradiated with excitement that she couldn't stop smiling for at least the next 4 hours. She was smiling when I left her place, and she was smiling the next weekend when we got together again.

She got a sitter for her son and drove her beat up rusty car to my house. We ate ribs, went dancing and held each others hand as we strolled through my neighborhood. That was one of the last times I heard from Heather. You see, she fought for and earned respect. She frequently told me how she had shown up at the welfare office to pick up a check and drop off some paperwork wearing clothes that were clean, pressed and borderline fancy. She told me about how she could hear the other people wondering why she was here, since she obviously didn't need the money. She told me how she would actually have to put on her worst, worn and torn clothes when she went to that place so that she would not feel the sting of words from people who honestly didn't know her situation. She felt that she needed to dress a certain way just to be respected. Heather always wanted to make her own way and being in the system was traumatic and humbling for her. She was grateful for the assistance, but hated the stigma.

Heather got a nursing assistant job at a clinic where childcare was provided for the staff. She eventually got off of every government assistance program, moved out of her depressing townhouse in the Jobless Zone, and got her son the help he needed to be as normal as he could. You see, there are two ways to work the system. You can have more kids so you can get more money handed to you and raise the kids with a mindset that they do not need to earn anything as long as someone is willing to give it to them. Or you can work the system the way it is intended to be worked. Take advantage of the time, money and programs so you can actually get out of the system and raise children that can learn from your work ethic.

I think about Heather frequently and each time, my eyes become misty. Sure, I loved her spirit. I loved to watch her patiently take care of her son and help him do basic things that came so difficult to him. I loved the way we could spend time together, know how screwed up and confused each other was, yet not care. I respect her more than any other person I've ever known. She was low, beaten down, striped of social dignity. She went into the system. Let the system work on her, and she came out the other side as a better person than when she went in. Hope. The system may not be perfect. But if a person is willing to reach up and grasp the extended hand they can be pulled up onto their feet. The system is there for people that need it. But it was never meant to be a lifestyle. I don't know where Heather is now. She took a job, moved and I never received any message she may have left. But she taught me that no matter what, there is a way out. When things are bad, it is never a life sentence. And hope can be birthed, by allowing yourself to completely succumb to your situation, acknowledge that you do not have all the answers, and trust that there really is a purpose to it all.

Wherever she is now, I'm sure that she is doing very well. And I'm also certain that she has no clue how inspiring she is to me, or how much I respect her. She probably doesn't know that I wished I had met her a few years before I did. And she will never know that she taught me what Hope really means: Not wishing that something will happen, but knowing that it actually will.