Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [57]
Many of these people also wanted to help in a material way. Just after Liz died, A.J. had set up a PayPal donation link on my blog with the money going directly into a memorial fund in her name, and people had also been sending money separately to help me raise my daughter. There was an address listed for the bank through which the fund was set up, and soon people were also sending actual stuff there.
Tons of it.
They also began to ask for my home address so they could send us stuff directly. Initially I said no. I didn’t want there to be any possible insinuation that I was profiting from my wife’s death, even if those profits were coming in the form of diapers, formula, and clothing for our daughter. That was something I could never, ever do. And to be honest, I was a bit leery about giving my address out to total strangers. It wasn’t that I distrusted them, or that I was worried that they’d show up at my house and attempt to steal my baby. But making friends with strangers had been Liz’s job.
Tom set me straight. “Matt,” he said, “you have to let people help. If they’re asking for your address, you give it to them.”
“I don’t know. I just feel a little weird just handing my address out to random Internet people.”
“Matt, this isn’t just about you and Madeline right now. This is about them, and their desire to help a human being who is in pain. Let them help you.”
He was right. Our conversation allowed me to realize that there was absolutely nothing wrong with accepting help. So I threw off the shackles of the possible negative perceptions of others, and opened myself up to the kindness and support of total strangers.
And help they did. Every time I walked up to the porch, I found boxes sitting there. Stuff came in constantly, so often that I couldn’t keep up with opening all of it. Several people mailed me perishable items that I unfortunately didn’t always get to in a timely manner. A woman from Duluth, Minnesota, sent me all the fixings for chicken noodle soup after I had written that I was sick. I didn’t open the care package until months later, unfortunately to find rotting garlic and a leaking container of chicken stock.
Some gifts were incredibly thoughtful but simply too difficult for me to deal with. One of Liz’s best friends from high school put together a book written from Liz’s point of view with photos captioned “I love you,” “I’m sorry I’m not here,” stuff like that. It was very kind and very touching, but for many months it was much too painful—I wasn’t yet strong enough to confront what was in it. More than one person sent me a pillow with an image of Liz on it. I know they meant well, but for me that was just a bit creepy. But at the heart of this outpouring of generosity was something very basic and very human: the fundamental goodwill of each sender. People wanted to help, and so I let them—Tom helped me understand that they felt good by reaching out to Madeline and me.
It quickly became impossible for me to look at these expressions of sympathy and generosity without thinking about how I could help other people. Something about all this support made me feel ready to focus on others in need. How could I acknowledge these many acts of kindness? I didn’t have the money to assist anyone financially, but I had all of this stuff—more than Maddy and I could ever possibly use.
The answer was to give back. Through the blog I had become friends with a woman in New York City whose boyfriend got her pregnant and then