Big disasters, like hurricanes and tornadoes, bring out Red Cross vehicles, food, medical professionals, and others in bright red vests to help people in the wake of tragic circumstances. I have worn the vest and worked in Chicago helping hurricane survivors from the Gulf states.
However, American Red Cross volunteers do many things you may not be aware of. We're like vampires: we can't come in unless you invite us. We never impose ourselves on anyone. If the Red Cross isn't there, or isn't there yet, they haven't been invited. Within each local chapter, volunteers receive no pay or expense reimbursement of any kind. Anywhere we work within our chapter, volunteers pay all expenses. Except of course they give us that snazzy red vest. Most recently, the Red Cross beefed up security and now all volunteers have to pass a comprehensive background check.
I am a Disaster Mental Health Technician. According to my training, we are a recent category of volunteer. The American Red Cross has always focused primarily on providing practical assistance to survivors. Over the years they became aware that some disaster survivors have an immediate need for more than food, shelter, medicine, and a few dollars. In addition, they realized that it takes more than training and good intentions to work a disaster: sometimes volunteers have emotional needs as well as a result of working with victims.
Red Cross volunteers respond regularly to local disasters, including fires and accidents. We provide assistance and support for both survivors and first responders like firefighters and police officers. I responded to a local call recently and they told me not to wear the red vest.
To protect the privacy of the family that we assisted, I cannot say more than this: a baby died in an accident. As a parent and a mental health professional, I cannot imagine any greater tragedy. The Red Cross was invited to help the family. My assignment was the funeral.
I wasn't alone. With me were Red Cross volunteers R., who came from Chicago, and P., who had done the lion's share of the work from the start and was well known to the family. Upon entering the church, my response was the universal response of the mourners. A tear came to my eye. The tiny white casket sat just inside the church door ready to be carried into the sanctuary for the service.
As instructed, we wore our Red Cross ID. Before and after the service, the family and their friends came up to us for quiet conversations, offering us thanks and words of kindness. Everyone kept reminding me how wonderful it was for them to have us there and how grateful they were for the support of the Red Cross.
As R. told me later, when people ask him what he does for the Red Cross, he says, "I get to meet some really great people, but it's always a disaster." This infant's funeral was not a disaster. It was sad and painful but it was also overflowing with expressions of love and grace. To me there is no greater gift than the honor and privilege to be invited to such a private moment to help out.
We did nothing heroic that day. There's nothing one can say to make sense out of the death of a child or to take away the sting of such a great loss. What we did was offer to get someone a chair, another some tissues, kept an eye on each other, and shared handshakes and hugs and kind words with people we just met.
In the Red Cross, strangers become like family.
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