The Widow’s Disgust
On the radio today, they were talking about how this pandemic has destroyed so many lives. People lost their jobs and are now unable to make ends meet. Some of them lost their homes. An alarming number lost their lives. Children became orphans. There is pain, fear, and despair everywhere. People lock themselves in their homes for fear of catching the Corona Virus. The government is desperately trying to help, but even they are feeling the pain.
As I listened to the news today, I thought of her. Is she still milking the system? I think of my weekly cleaning lady. Because of the pandemic, she now only works for me and for another person who has her every fortnight. How she and her husband struggle to put food on the table, how anxious they must feel in these difficult and trying times. Then there are people like the widow who shamelessly accept government food stamps they do not deserve or need. They are taking away from those who truly need this aid. They line their already bulging pockets at the expense of those who truly need the help. It makes me feel so sad. How do they sleep at night? How do they look at themselves in the mirror? How?
As I listened to the radio, my mind flew back to five and half years ago, when I had very suddenly and unexpectedly lost my husband. I was in the deepest and utmost painful shock. I could not grasp the reality of how he was there one minute and gone the next, never to return again. My world was enveloped in the deepest grief. I was blindly feeling my way in this life where Peter was no longer a part of. I kept telling myself to take one step at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time, one week, one month at a time. Keep going I told myself, keep going…
I think it was in months three or four after Peter was gone when the phone rang one morning. A woman with a very heavy accent was on the line. I did not recognize her voice.
“I heard you have lost your husband recently. My condolences to you,” the heavily accented voice said, without an introduction.
“I am sorry, who is this,” I asked, puzzled.
“Oh! I am Mrs. G. My sons are friends of your son and I had been to your house about twenty years ago. Your son had a barbecue party and my sons brought me with them. Do you remember me?’’
I knew of her sons. One was a dentist. The other one was a surgeon. I hadn’t seen them in many a year. I wondered what this chatty woman wanted. I was in no mood to make small talk, especially with a woman I did not know, even though she claimed to have come to our home about twenty years ago. All I wanted was to bury myself in my sorrow and be left alone.
“As you may know, I am a widow also,” she continued importantly.
No, I did not know and I didn’t even care!
“In this country, when you become a widow you are entitled to food stamps. It is your right! As one widow to another, I am trying to help you,” she rambled on.
She’s trying to help me? I pricked up my ears. Did I seem to be ready for a handout? I began to splutter! “I do not need food stamps! They are for the needy and the destitute! They are not for the looks of me and you!” I exclaimed indignantly.
“It is the law!”
“Yes, it is, but for the poor,” I replied impatiently and in disgust. Her sons had magnificent homes in an exclusive area. Her home is not in a shabby area either. She lives near one of my friends.
“Are you offended,” she asked in surprise.
At this point, I was outraged by this stranger who had given herself permission to call me and give me such outrageous and unasked-for advice. I did not care to be polite. “As a matter fact I am. You are taking advantage of the system! You are taking food out of the mouth of the poor to line your pockets! Please excuse me, I have to go. Thank you for your condolences.” I hung up.
Perhaps it gave me a few days of taking my mind off the pain of losing Peter. Over those days, I stewed over how low and greedy some people can become! I could not get over her self-righteousness and greediness. These many years later, I still felt the outrage I felt then whenever I remembered that day.