Right place, right time

Part of the requirements of my new internship is a background check and fingerprint screening so that I can work with various populations and programming. Before the end of the day on Tuesday, I received a slip with instructions to go to the Hamilton County Justice Center any time between 7am and 4pm Monday through Friday, and Santa Maria would be billed for the screenings.

I didn't make it there on Wednesday, so I attempted to go yesterday morning before a meeting in Lower Price Hill. I knew it could take a while to complete, so I left with plenty of time. But when I got downtown I realized I was missing two very important things. Parking money and a plan. I hadn't looked ahead to see where I would park and even if I had, I had no cash on hand for the overpriced garages or lots. I don't know what I was thinking.

I pulled over at a random parking meter at least a half mile down the street and rummaged through my purse for some coins. But as I slipped each coin through the slot, my minutes weren't adding up as much as I would have thought. Suddenly, I found myself out of coins with only 33 minutes on the meter. I wasn't confident I would get down to the building, get through the line, finish the screenings, and get back to the car in that time, and I wasn't willing to risk the ticket, as I had watched several eager parking police guys converge on a car across the street just minutes earlier.

Dejected, I decided to leave the Justice Center for another day. As I drove out of downtown, I recognized the entrance to one of my favorite parks. I still had about 40 minutes before I would need to get to my meeting, so I pulled in and parked for a walk along the river. It was cold, so there weren't many people out, but as I approached the end of the loop, I saw an old woman huddled in a big winter coat on a bench near the path. I said good morning as I passed and we made a bit of small talk about the weather, the ducks in the river, and the new year. I kept walking, but about 5 seconds after I passed, I heard her call out to me and before I knew it, we were walking together back on the loop back towards the parking lot.

We talked for a bit about the day; I disclosed I was killing time between meetings for my social work program and she said she had come down to feed the ducks. A few minutes later she started to share about her volunteer work and some of the depression she had been experiencing. I listened as we strolled, offering an occasional thought, but mostly just listened. As we continued on the loop and passed the parking lot, I knew I should think about getting back to my car so I could make it to the meeting in time. I didn't want to get too far down the trail and take too long to get back. Still, something told me to keep going, so I did.

We made our way down the path, and several minutes later I knew it was time to turn around and go back to the car, so I slowed my pace. And suddenly the woman disclosed that she had been raped more than a decade ago. She said she had never told anyone that before, and wondered if maybe that could be contributing to her depression.

I couldn't believe it--I have a lot of training in this area, and if ever there was a time to put it to use, this was it. Suddenly I didn't care about the clock; I knew I needed to help this woman. I told her this was my area of expertise, and I carefully explained how her feelings could very likely be related to her assault, especially if she hadn't emotionally dealt with what had happened to her all those years ago. As I spoke, tears streamed down her face. She said she believed God had put me in her path today so that she could get help. I told her how glad I was that she trusted me and told me her painful secret, and I suggested that she look into counseling to process everything in more detail in the long term. I referred her to Women Helping Women and she said she would call them when she got home.

As I said good bye, she hugged me twice, thanked me for listening, and encouraged me to keep going in school because I would make a good social worker one day. I was flattered not only by her compliment, but that she remembered my program I mentioned at the beginning of our conversation.

My friend from the park served as a poignant reminder of why I'm doing this in the first place. We all need help sometimes. We all need someone to talk to, someone to help us find our strengths, regain our coping skills, and set us in the right direction. That's what social work is all about.

I don't know what will happen to her. I hope she finds peace and happiness, but I'll never know for sure, unless, of course, I run into her again. And if I do, I'll know it was for a reason.