Donation protected
I was playing a game the other day, its objective was to let people get to know you, to help us move passed being strangers. When my card turned over it asked, "What do others think is the hardest part about your job?"
I knew immediately what it is. But I couldn't actually say whether or not my reality could match the collective idea of what it is that I even do.
My job has always been more of an innate responsibility. A responsibility for the pain of others. For the pain of our children. Not to take it on alone, but to force you to take it on as well. To force someone who has the power or who has the means to do something or change something about that pain, to finally make a move.
A few weeks ago while I was in Georgia working with the non-profit bullying prevention organization Be Strong, I got to meet and celebrate one of their student leaders, 14 year old Dakota. His presence was overwhelming for me, because I immediately was able to feel how overwhelmed he was by the weight of his world. I've only ever seen that kind of heaviness in the eyes of other young people, who had taken on more than they ever should have had to at their age. I've grown to recognize it, but haven't yet learned how to untether myself from it. I've thought about him everyday since. I've cried for him almost everyday since. The hardest part about my job is that more often than not, I'm unable to help them, i'm unable to do a single thing. I'm not the hero. All I have to offer is the vulnerability they've entrusted me with, and hope I did enough to translate it into one single impactful image. An image that speaks truth, and pain, and hope.
I got word a few days ago that the only father figure that Dakota and his two younger siblings have ever had, tragically passed away. The main provider for the family, who had only just recently gotten back to work due to covid, is now gone. So on top of the pain that comes with losing a loved one unexpectedly, is now the very real and overshadowing reality of financial hardship. One of the last things they did as a family was buy their first home together. I need you guys to act. I need you to show up for Dakota. We couldn't keep Dakota's family together forever, but the least we can do is what we have the power to, and that is letting them keep that home.
As I know, many of my own friends and family are experiencing one of the most difficult years any of us have ever faced, and so I do know that giving may not be a possibility for you at this time, a simple share of Dakota's story can be just as impactful.
I knew immediately what it is. But I couldn't actually say whether or not my reality could match the collective idea of what it is that I even do.
My job has always been more of an innate responsibility. A responsibility for the pain of others. For the pain of our children. Not to take it on alone, but to force you to take it on as well. To force someone who has the power or who has the means to do something or change something about that pain, to finally make a move.
A few weeks ago while I was in Georgia working with the non-profit bullying prevention organization Be Strong, I got to meet and celebrate one of their student leaders, 14 year old Dakota. His presence was overwhelming for me, because I immediately was able to feel how overwhelmed he was by the weight of his world. I've only ever seen that kind of heaviness in the eyes of other young people, who had taken on more than they ever should have had to at their age. I've grown to recognize it, but haven't yet learned how to untether myself from it. I've thought about him everyday since. I've cried for him almost everyday since. The hardest part about my job is that more often than not, I'm unable to help them, i'm unable to do a single thing. I'm not the hero. All I have to offer is the vulnerability they've entrusted me with, and hope I did enough to translate it into one single impactful image. An image that speaks truth, and pain, and hope.
I got word a few days ago that the only father figure that Dakota and his two younger siblings have ever had, tragically passed away. The main provider for the family, who had only just recently gotten back to work due to covid, is now gone. So on top of the pain that comes with losing a loved one unexpectedly, is now the very real and overshadowing reality of financial hardship. One of the last things they did as a family was buy their first home together. I need you guys to act. I need you to show up for Dakota. We couldn't keep Dakota's family together forever, but the least we can do is what we have the power to, and that is letting them keep that home.
As I know, many of my own friends and family are experiencing one of the most difficult years any of us have ever faced, and so I do know that giving may not be a possibility for you at this time, a simple share of Dakota's story can be just as impactful.
Organiser and beneficiary
Emilee Rose McGovern
Organiser
Fort Lauderdale, FL
Tara Campbell
Beneficiary