Debbie’s Story: Slipping Through the Cracks
Debbie answered my email faster than I expected. Only then did it sink in that I had written to a complete stranger, asking how much money it would take to keep her electricity and phone on. Was I planning to send her some? Yes, I realized, I was prepared to do that. I’m no savior-mission junkie, though I will admit to a tendency toward a bleeding heart. Besides, Barack Obama had more than enough in his campaign coffers, and I’m sure if he knew of her plight, he’d rather I send my money to Debbie than his campaign. As surely as I knew I couldn’t save Debbie, that I couldn’t realistically expect to solve all her problems, I also knew that I could not sit idly by and do nothing. Not when it would be so easy to do something.
At the same time, I wondered, as I’ve so often wondered in my upper-middle-class-sheltered, and by many standards, privileged life, how do people like Debbie get to be on the brink of losing everything after a life of hard work? So many others I’d seen in this position all inevitably had themselves to blame; at least, society painted that picture and those individuals willingly stepped into the role. Some had, through assorted dysfunctions, addictions, or self-destructive behaviors, backed themselves into their own miserable corners.
Others, despite many advantages, opportunities, and much prodding, had taken the easy road and never stepped up to much of anything, let alone basic hard work. Still, vast populations of others were mired in ignorance, having either never had the chance for a decent education, or skirting school altogether. None of these scenarios, I was to learn, applied to Debbie. Instead, her life it seemed was one test of fortitude and survival after the next. Her path has been a Himalayan trek the likes of which I hope never to see the trail head, let alone attempt to walk.
I asked for her address. I didn’t know if she’d give it. Despite my nagging skepticism (This was, after all, Florida, a state with more than its fair share of fugitives, vagrants, criminals, con artists, and scammers.), I realized I was a stranger to her as well. How could, and why would, she trust me to help? But she did, writing:
“My God, are you sure? You don’t even know me. How could I ever thank you? We are focused on finding work. My husband offers twenty years of experience in his work history as an Administrative Assistant. I never thought it would ever be this hard to find a job. Even $8 hour duties we would take—but nothing, there is nothing. We have sent out 500 resumes in two weeks and only one phone interview. Here is my address (address followed). I wish I could share this story on how Obama women come together. Thank you ever so much from my family’s heart and soul.”
I penned a check for $150 and mailed it. Before I returned from the mailbox she had written more, gushing forth in her fear that the electric company might actually cut the power any minute. Here, in her own words, is the beginning of Debbie’s story:
“I love Senator Obama and right now he is my strength. I live in Bradenton, FL. My husband was laid off in January. He worked at a major hospital; we moved here from California and he gave up his twenty years working for the state (of California) to come here for this job and for me so I could be near my daughter.
I am currently raising two kids, one disabled. I was laid off last April and could not sign up for unemployment because I didn’t have enough paid in. My (current and second) husband gets $275 a week that is the maximum benefit they will pay. I get a $900 a month Social Security survivor benefit since the death of my first husband. So our total income right now is $2,000 a month. Our rent is $1,400 and now that we have been late for the past few months my credit is shot to heck. We don’t have the money to move, although I will live in a smaller place or apartment if I could get one in case we are evicted from here. They tell me we can’t get food stamps, that we make too much. What a joke. Had it not been for the Democrats my husband’s benefits would be gone by now; thank God for that.
