It's been almost six years since Neil and I divorced. I left Texas for South Carolina, and since he asked me never to contact him again, I haven't. Which makes it especially weird when I still get mail for him sometimes. He's never lived in South Carolina - I'm fairly certain he's never even been to South Carolina. The change of address form I submitted was clearly in my name only. I don't get all his mail; just the kind that really doesn't matter except for the way it reminds me of this thing at which I failed.
Right after I signed my mortgage documents, a fat periodical addressed to him called Waste Management Monthly began to arrive. I'd become enraged, try to tear it in half like the Bionic Woman with a phone book, give up, and bury it under the cereal boxes in the recycle bin. Then it was the Corpus Christi Food Bank, which would trigger a crying jag that lasted anywhere from 45 minutes to two days. Years before, we'd volunteered at CCFB loading nonperishables on pallets in the vast, cold warehouse. These were times when we got along especially well. (Did it ever occur to me to contact the organizations with address corrections? It did not. Tell me, Elizabeth Kubler Ross, what stage of grief was that?)
Years go by; pain diminishes; bygones and all that. It's been months - maybe a year - since I've gotten mail for him, so the fat envelope from the VFW sent me right over the edge. The idea of my stiff-lipped surfer dude ex-husband posting a letter with those froofy purple mailing labels made me giddy. I read the letter, which used too many exclamation points and promised a "Free! Patriotic Tote Bag!" for a $15 donation. My laughter bordered on maniacal!
Mr. McQueen is not someone I would call an American patriot. He's a Canadian, left-leaning environmentalist who wages peaceful wars against land developers, plastic bags, and water pollution. While our younger selves couldn't reconcile being anti-capital-w-War with being patriotic, our compassion for soldiers never wavered. During the second Gulf War, we always closed our eyes in silence at the end of the Lehrer News Hour, as photographs of soldiers who'd died that day scrolled across the screen.
The misdirected mail, the flood of memories, the laughter, and my own intent to donate to good causes every month of 2014 prompted me to action. Since I want more than 4 cents on the dollar to reach intended recipients, administratively top heavy organizations like the VFW are out.Luckily, the website Charitynavigator.org identifies top-rated nonprofits so that lazy, if well-intentioned people like me can find out quickly what their tax deduction will actually do.
Puppies Behind Bars, a group that trains inmates to raise service dogs for wounded vets, has a 4-out-of-4-star rating. 86.4% of its expenses fund the programs and services it delivers.
As soon as I finish this post, I'll write them a check. And while the donation will be in my name, the return address label will be a froofy, purple, floral one from a piece of mail not meant for me.
