Author: goodeye

A grandmother’s story.

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Sometimes, the more you know of a person’s story, the more you’re amazed at who they are.

This is the story of L and I. A story of two very different women – not that very far apart in age, but an ocean of difference in family circumstances, and the way our lives have gone – and yet, it’s also the story of two women who find great joy in each other’s similarities.

L and I first met about two months ago. She was living at the Refuge with her four mokopuna, the youngest of whom is 2. When I first met her, she had not long arrived. She tells me, now, that she was resentful at being there. But the person I met wasn’t one who seemed resentful, she was very much one who didn’t muck around, she was a do-er, quite a lot like me. She didn’t initially tell me much of her story, just that she had two sons in prison; she was legally adopting her youngest grandchild; that she hadn’t arrived at Refuge out of violence.

When I first met her, it was established that she needed glasses, amongst other things. It wasn’t her that volunteered that information, but the other women living in Refuge with her. They told me most categorically what Nana L needed. I listened, and put out the call for glasses, and an Aunty of the Twitter variety answered. We organised a date for the eye exam, and that was that.

In the meantime, L was found a house in Otara, and had a wonderful Xmas, courtesy of the #twitteraunties. And the optometrist appointment rolled around. This afternoon, I went out to collect her – she welcomed me into her house and introduced me to “her mate”, her partner of some 27 years. I had first heard about him last week – he had come from Dunedin and was to look after her youngest moko while we were out and about. A very mild mannered man. I was curious about him, about why they weren’t together, but held my tongue.

And so we set off from Otara to Glen Innes, and on the way we talked. And talked. She told me she and her partner had gone to Dunedin a couple of years ago, and that her partner had decided to stay down there to work. But it was too far away from L’s children, and grandchildren so she had come back here a year ago, and here she had stayed. Her son is in prison in Whangarei, and she’s up and down there all the time to see him. Her other children live here, but they live with their parents’ in law, so she couldn’t stay with them when she got back up here and had taken M into her care (her son was caring for his son pretty much by himself before he went into prison). So she landed at her sister’s place and was really happy there, but the social worker – or “parenting lady” she told me scornfully, as if she needed any help parenting – hadn’t been happy with the arrangement and CYFS had insisted she go to Refuge. She took her older grandchildren into her care ( their father had just got out of prison, and her daughter had not been “behaving” as L put it. She didn’t tell CYFS about this arrangement, “because they didn’t ask!” she said. “And you weren’t telling!” I said as I nudged her. She winked.

And as it turned out, she loved being at Refuge. ” I have to go back there and pick my heart up from outside the gate” she said. “I can’t stop talking about them, they were so good to me”.

So that was the woman I first met, where she had come from.

By that point in her story, we had reached our destination, and we spent the next 2 hours with the optometrist, who did the most thorough job. I was very impressed with the young woman’s demeanour – how she treated L, who laughed most of the way through. Afterwards – and they had all stayed late to accommodate us – they asked L to choose a pair of glasses, which they assured her would be there in a week. There were so many frames that L was overwhelmed. “Any pair will do!” she kept telling me. But I started asking her the right questions, and soon a very colourful pair were chosen. She wanted ones that “turn into sunglasses”. Which was a bit complicated, but they fiddled around some more.  I glanced at the price of the glasses. “Complimentary” they told the receptionist, and didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m happy with whatever they give me, dear” she told me. But I knew, and the staff at the Clinic knew, that she deserved the very best. Another appointment was made – she was insistent that it be before I go back to work so that I could see how very grand she was with them on.

And on the way home, her story resumed. The story of her childhood – she had 10 siblings and had left school at 13 so she could work, and help to raise them. “My mother was a gambler and my father worked all day. He didn’t know what she got up to.”. She had met her partner when she was 27, had stayed at home all that time, to raise her siblings, to be the mother she knew her mother wasn’t capable of being. “And what sort of mother were you?” I asked her. “Everything my mother wasn’t. She was a nasty piece of work. But you get older, don’t you? And wiser, and you don’t let people push you around as much”. Her partner is going to come back up to Auckland, and she wants to go back to work. “I’m in charge now” she said. “Me. I call the shots”.

She said to me that she wanted to come on my Twitter page and tell everybody how much I needed glasses – I can do it myself, I said. I can get my own. “You sound like me” she said. “Always ‘I can do it! Don’t worry about me!’ We’re alike, you and me” she said.

And we are so very much alike, in so many ways. And yet, our stories are so very different. She humbles me, and I love being with her because she laughs all the time, and has a delicious sense of humour. You can’t be snarky or ironic around her, because she can’t hear properly what you’re saying. So you have to be clear and concise, and say what you mean. Just how she likes it. Just how I like it.

Sometimes, the more you listen to a person’s story, the more you’re amazed at the person you are because of them.

TIL: A Xmas party

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Over the last month or so, I have been getting you all together, curating presents, and household goods, and clothes. Collecting parcels from far and wide. Keeping everyone up to date on the happenings, all in the hope that my passion for the refuge would be catching. Would go viral, if you like.  My husband has put up with people knocking on our door at all hours of the day, and night. Our dog has seen people she loves, and people who are strangers to her, come to our house, and has barked herself hoarse (not really, but she should have. And she smashed a window in the process, so it was a bit anxious making for her).
I’ve had people come to my work with extraordinary things for the families at Refuge, and offers of more help. I’ve had emails offering help in many forms, all of which has materialised. My boss has put up with me sloping off early to make deliveries to Refuge, and distractedly checking my phone for important emails and messages while “on the floor” (ie with the kids).

So today was always going to be a bit of a zenith. And it didn’t disappoint. I left work early (shhhh) and arrived at Refuge in good time. Time enough to sit in the shade with O, and chew that fat. Time enough to dress J in his new clothes, and jandals, that Demelza had sent up, and that had arrived just this morning. I sat and watched all the kids – big and little – on the bouncy castle, roaming around chatting, their mothers watching over them. There was a bit of mischief, but nothing injurious, and everyone was happy. As well as 5 of the 6 women who currently live in Refuge and their kids, there was 25 other families. Ex-residents. All women who are doing well in their lives. More on that later.

I met D who, once a week, teaches the women to cook the vegetables out of the gardens they’re growing. Some of the stuff they eat, and like, but most of it they’re not accustomed to, so the excess is given to the families in the community that Christina still supports, in one way or another.

I was sat upon and cuddled by TP and J and B, who were anxious to see what Santa was bringing with him. They knew there was lots of presents – we had delivered them last night, and they knew who they were from too. “When can I open the Aunties’ presents?” TP asked me. Not yet, darling, I said. Not yet. Wait for Santa.

A car pulled up the driveway, and two men got out. One with a camera, the other with a pad, and I knew they were from the Herald on Sunday, and shortly thereafter, Christina called me into the office so we could talk to them. The reporter asked me how I had got involved, so I explained. I told him about all of you, and how important sustaining support for the Refuge was, and how committed many of you are in your support. Christina told him about who they support, and why. About how many of the women, when they first arrive, don’t have a voice – nobody to speak for them, nobody to care for them in the ways they need. Louise told him how all of your support has made it easier for them to do what they do. Your generosity and compassion is making a difference to so many people. I explained to the reporter that just as I am developing a relationship with the women, and the kids, and the staff at Refuge, you too have become invested. You know the names of the women, and their children. You know who they are as soon as I know who they are. You care, you want the best for them, we all do.

The interview went well, and the photographer took photos of Christina and I wrapping presents and chatting, and then that was that. I hope we did you proud.

And then………Santa arrived. C explained to me that she had given all your gifts to the women in the Refuge this morning to store in the cupboards for Xmas Day, or to take home to their families, and that they had kept aside just a couple for each child.

So I sat with H, and some of the kids, as they started getting their presents. TP was fascinating. After asking me if she could open some presents, when the reality came, she sat very quietly, and didn’t open a one. I said she was allowed, so she opened one – a scooter. She was overcome, and didn’t know what to do. She said thankyou to me. I didn’t know what to say. It isn’t me they have to thank, after all, but I said she was welcome, anyway.

B opened her fairy dress and little pink slippers. Ooooooh, she said. Pretty! (The child is obsessed with pretty things. And heels. She loves heels). And we immediately put the dress on and she was as proud as punch.

K was embarrassed, and asked if she could go into the room to open hers. Off she went, but came back with it, then went back to the room. She, too, was overcome.

J wasn’t allowed to open his, and I pleaded with O. So many for Xmas Day, I said. Just one, now. She relented, and we opened it together. He got one flap open – it’s a fire engine! he declared. How do you know? I asked him, and shut the box. Because, he said, I just know. He was right too. And he sat there hugging it. “It’s my first ever fire engine!” he said. And I was thrilled for S who had so thoughtfully picked it out.

After presents, most of the extra families were disappearing, and C  asked the Refuge women to come into the office where she gave them their food baskets, and their cosmetic/toiletry gifts. H looked at me and said “I didn’t know people were like this”. I assured her that I had meant what I had said to her: that if she needed anything, we had her back. And her kids’. A said thankyou for everything we have done for her, and I reminded her that it’s not over, that as long as she has need of us, we’re here. And L, who has her new house, and is moving out in the weekend to start her new life with her grandchildren looked me dead in the eye, and said “I love you. You’re too much”. But she is. She’s astonishing and graceful. And she’s happy. For the first time in a long time. I even got a hug from O, who’s moved into her new house, and I told her that the ideas she had given me for cooking lessons were coming to fruition.

A woman I had seen before Santa came to hug me, and say thank you for all we are doing for Refuge. She was here a year ago, before C  came, and she was so impressed with all the changes. Next year,  she’s embarking on 5 years of study for a Social Work degree. She goes back to Refuge regularly to help out. Because most of the women who leave, if they are able, want to give back in some way to the place that helped them so much. “This place really is refuge” she told me “in every meaning of the word. It gave me back my life.”

I talked to S – who had come to Refuge not only from violence, but from The Lodge.  A notorious boarding house in where crime, and substance abuse and violence are rife, and yet HNZ still place families there. S has 6 children, and all of them lived in one tiny room, before she came to refuge. Now, she says, they have a 4 bedroom house, but they only sleep in two of the rooms, because they’re not used to all the space.

And finally it was just C  and I, talking about what needs to be done, and how we’re going to achieve that. We talked about what needs were now being met, that weren’t before. Now, she says, she’s able to give the excess clothes/shoes/goods/food that come in to women in the community that she works with. Some of the exresidents. But they aren’t fully supported, so I wanted to clarify expectations of the Aunties. We are there to support the women in Refuge. That’s our job. Their needs, we will meet. And anything left over will, and does, go to the exresidents.

You may never meet them, but you have invested time and love into them – time and love that they may have never had before coming to Refuge. I thank you for that, for trusting me to know what I’m doing, for blindly – in some cases – following me into places you may never have been before. I hope you carry on with me. I do. It’s too big a job for one person. And I want to do this for C. For the women and their children. When one family moves out, another moves in. (There is a new Mama coming in over Xmas – she has 6 kids. Can you imagine? They will be living in a reasonably small space.) And we’ll help them too. Because that’s what we do, now.

Public Acknowledgement – a debt of gratitude repaid

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I’m taking this opportunity to sit down and say thank you to a large group of quite extraordinary people. Some of you are dear and much loved friends, some are people who have adopted me on Twitter, some of you found my Refuge posts via Facebook. However you found me, however our paths have collided,  I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. This blog post, which I shall share far and wide, and in doing so, shout your names from the metaphorical rooftops, is my very small way of saying thank you. There are a number of people who wish to remain anonymous.  I understand that desire, and respect your wishes. There are also a number of people who have chosen, as a result of their involvement with this, to help the Refuges in their local area. This pleases me greatly. Whatever way you have chosen to help, know that it has been your kindnesses that are healing hearts, and giving hope. That sounds cheesy but is entirely, I can assure you, true.

Our support of Te Whare Marama, and other Refuges like it, in the future has been given a huge shot in the arm with the raised awareness this has all brought.  All of this begs the question as to why Refuges aren’t given more funding – as a lovely man said to me yesterday, it just seems so obvious  – and our actions could be seen as condoning a Government which chooses to stand by and let this happen. But this Refuge has been open for 21 years, and has been struggling for the last ten, that I know of. Successive governments have failed to do the right thing.

There is also the argument that by propping up this Refuge, we are allowing the Government to continue not to do it’s job. Well, you can think like that, and also believe that someone has to do something, and the longer you sit around and wait for someone else to do it, the more that people suffer. So I’m happy for the community to rally to Te Whare Marama’s aid. It takes a lot more energy to change the Government’s funding policies than it does to just do it yourself (and yes, I know that is possibly the point of all that faffing around on the behalf of Government Departments).

This started because I rang Christina, and the minute she laid eyes on me, she understood what a resource I was. She jumped in with both feet because she had nothing to lose by asking. I responded, and in my turn have jumped in with both feet, because that is what is required to get people back on their feet. It started with a phonecall. Simple as that. And the recognition of opportunities for bigger things. Anyone can do it, and everyone should.

That having been said, thanks to everyone for jumping onboard with such gusto. I can never have hoped to do any of this by myself. Your support is invaluable.

These names are in no particular order of importance. You are all important, and there’s rather a lot of you.

Firstly to @jofromgreylynn, who has been in on this with me from almost the very beginning, those six months or so ago. Who bought clothes for the kids. Who gave me bits and pieces to give to Refuge (and yes, Jo, the painting is still in my spare room, waiting for it’s day in the sun). Thank you. For believing in me, for believing in this. I still remember how I felt when I saw those hot water bottles.

To @ericalloyd who gets it. Who knows what this is, and what it means. For being part of the Aunty Mafia, and cheering me on in your own inimitable and quietly staunch way. Thank you.

To @caniwiwillliams, who has  jumped onboard wholeheartedly, and offered quiet words of encouragement along the way. Thank you.

To @smaloneytweet, thank you. In for a pound, indeed!

To @DawgBelly, I thank you Madam from the bottom of my heart for many things, including  marching into battle with me.

To Lisa, thank you. So much.

To @lizzyolo, thanks. Thank you. Thanking you.

To @sarabeee – darling. Always. Thank you for everything. J is so enthusiastic he’s about to go stratospheric.

To @wellychelle – for jumping into the madness so willingly with me.

To @GrowFromHereNZ – always with the babies eh? And thank the Goddess for you.

To Jenelle, who found me via Facebook, you have a wonderful group of friends, and I thank you for your kindnesses.

To Linda, thank you so much. L will be over the moon.

To @powderkeig – thank you darling.

To Jo Luping – thank you so much for the sling and the baby products which I gave to H yesterday. She was thrilled, particularly that the sling was “army”!

To @eloisegibson- thank you for the baby clothes your friend dropped off, and many many nappies. H will get those today.

To @azlemed – darling Demelza – who rings me to make sure I’m okay even when I’ve run out of words. Thank you. For everything.

To @discorobot, thankyou. Thank you so much.

To @GrumpyYetAmusin – darling, thank you.

To @sneakybaker, thank you. And thanks for the offer of services you know I’ll be taking you up on.

To Trina McClune, who emailed and offered me something I couldn’t turn down. Who helps other charities, including one I need to get to know more about. Who is inspirational. Thank you.

To @annettle – who at very short notice provided baby things, and some beautiful clothes (which J is very much enjoying wearing.)

To @implementnz, thank you. Thanks for your work.

To @larahrn, thank you so much.

To @scubanurse  who is indefatigable.  Thank you. For being #auntymafia, for doing this as you everything – with the hugest of hearts, and most passion I have ever seen. Thank you for collecting stuff, and delivering it to Refuge. Thank you for making up food baskets, and making sure the women have food over Christmas. Thank you.

To Jeanette Marsh  – thank you for providing the baskets for the food hampers.

To @ZeldaWynn – thank you for driving all the way out to where I was, in your very cool car, to give me such precious things, and for staying to keep the kids and I company. Come back soon.

To @WhaeaJo thank you. Thank you for finding me, and thank you for making such a difference in your local community but finding it in your heart to help us out as well. Nga mihinui me arohanui.

To @JessforBrains, thank you. You’re in the middle of exams and look what you’re doing! Thanks. I appreciate it in the midst of such anxiety making stuff.

To @porridgefish who demonstrates how very kind young people can be.

To @Jacs76 – wow. Thank you. Christina is very excited by your offer, and I am so glad I’ve hooked you up. Thank you so much.

To @rmccarten there are many things I have to thank you for, it transpires. But for our purposes in this post, I’ll keep it simple. Thank you so much for getting involved. Thank you.

To @whiasco – thank you. Thank you, thankyou, thankyou. You can provide something no-one else can. Thank you.

To @pimmslabyrinth – thank you. Thank you so much.

To @StefanieLash – we’re helping each other, and thank you for everything you have done. You are an angel.

To Marianne – I hope this is a suitable compromise. Thank you so very much.

To Penny D, thank you. You brave Ruby every time you come around, and one of these days, we’ll go through the greeting ritual. Thank you.

To @superleeni – you are very super indeed. Thank you.

To @traceyhampstead – thank you for your enthusiasm in this. Thank you for your thoughtful words to me.

To @gurrlwithacurl – thank you. Thanks for many things. I didn’t even need to ask, you just knew.

To @caitypai – I adore you for so many reasons, not the least of which is your passion for advocating for the vulnerable, and those whose voices are not often heard. Thank you.

To @dyslexialady – thank you. Thank you for adopting J, and being willing to figure out the rest later. Thank you.

To Katie Haworth – thank you for the vacuum cleaner (O loved it) and thank you for making me aware of you. I suspect this relationship has only just begun. Thank you.

To @NZMcKenzie – thankyou. Thank you for jumping in there because you believe in me.

To @Meri_aah_NAH – thank you. Your  passion and enthusiasm is heartening.

To @fuck_lupus – thank you for believing in me for a very long time. Thank you for being you.

To Kate – thank you for your enthusiasm for this.

To @wendypooh – thank you. Thank you for your love and enthusiasm.

To @ghetsuhm – thank you for lending me your lenses through which to see the world. It’s made me a kinder person. I believe if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have got so far with this.

To Sarah Jane – thank you. Your ideas have inspired me, and I look forward to doing more work with you.

To Leena – thank you. Thank you for loving me and taking a punt of all of this.

To @paulaflea – thank you darling. Thank you.

To @AnnaliesVK – thank you for getting behind me.

To @Becs – thankyou for being my friend, and working on it.

To @di_naturo – thank you for jumping in there, and taking the time to come and meet my kids. Next time the lights will be on.

To @eviekemp – thank you!

To @NatDudley – thank you for getting on board so quickly, and so wholeheartedly. For providing the necessaries that makes Xmas such a special place for children.

To @paulbrislen -thank you for having a quiet word.

To @HamishMack and your lovely partner – thank you so very much.

To Jacqui – thank you for jumping onboard, even though we had lost contact somewhat. Your efforts are not unseen.

To @JohnnyRedLives – thank you for making it possible to make Christina’s life easier, and enabling her to throw a whacking great Christmas lunch at her own house!

To @kiwitally – thank you. For everything.

To @Knhannah – thank you for being #auntymafia, and thank you from L. You are making an enormous difference in her life.

To @blondinigang – thank you. For all you do.

To @lin_nah – thank you for all your ideas and kindness

To @radiomum – thank you.

To @Margie186 – thank you. Thank you for loving the kids, and thank you for jumping onboard.

To Megan – thank you for your support, in many ways.

To @kaiako_nz – thank you for jumping right in there from the very beginning, and for your support.

To @tavvi2toes – thank you for your kindness and support.

To @auratti – thank you. Thank you.

To Rob – it’s on the DL, but thank you. Thank you so very much for your organisational skills, and kind heart. For adopting us and for taking this into places I had no idea it was going to go, and recognising a need I hadn’t even thought about.

To @littlelilybits – what a star. Thank you.

To @thisfog – thank you. Thank you for always looking out for me. And those who have no voice.

To @SalSallySarah – thank you for being there at the right time.

To @manikpixi – what would I do without you? Thank you for being there, always.

To my Vicky – I love you and all that you do for me, and for others. We’re going to do big things.

To V’s T – thank you and you know for why.

To @puriripark – thank you for going above and beyond in so very many ways, for opening your heart to me and to this crusade I’m on. Thank you.

To Sonja with a J – thankyou. In the midst of craziness, there is a small place of stillness. Thank you for finding it with me.

To @eloquentsonia – thank you for getting in there, as I knew you would, boots and all.

To @ksuyin – your generosity has been unbelievable and so very welcome at a very crucial time for one woman. Thank you.

To @catatonichic – thank you. Big things are ahead for you, and so I appreciate you taking the time to make sure that other people feel the love.

To Jocelyn – thank you for your gifting. Your stuff is finding the right home.

To Anthea – thank you.

To Carol – thank you.

To Jenna – thank you.

To @publicaddress – thank you for giving me a platform, and boosting my efforts.

To @HatePash1 – thank you.

To Jarna – thank you so very much.

To @_steveadams – Thank you. Thank you to you and R for your astoundingly original gift, and for giving me some more ideas.

Thank you to @TelecomNZ for the phones and SIM cards

Thank you to @2degreesmobile for the phones and SIM cards

Thank you to Vicky at @vodafonenz for rallying the troops.

Thank you to @UrgentCouriers and Catherine in particular who, on a very busy day, heard my call and to @wanderlustrehab for getting me onto them.

Thank you to Christina for coming into my life those months ago. For spotting what a resource I could be, when I didn’t even know it myself. Thank you to Karen, and Trish, and Debbie, and all the women who work at Te Whare Marama for taking in the women and giving them love. So much love. For fighting on every day in the face of a world that seems not to care. For investing your lives in this glorious place that is filled with love, and noise, and is a whirl of activity. A place of hope, and learning. A place quite unlike any I’ve ever been to before. Thank you for letting us help you, and for being so graceful about it. Thank you for being Wahine Toa, on the frontline, every day, and getting very little recognition for it because your job is too important to worry about stuff like that. Thank you. I can’t imagine my life without you guys in it. You know now – look at this army of people! – that all you have to do is ask, and we’ll be there. (And sometimes I’ll be there even when you didn’t ask). And we thank you for the opportunity.

Thank you to you all – whether I have named you or not (some of your own volition). This is a really big thing we’re doing. A huge, ginormous thing that’s making a huge, ginormous difference in the lives of a great number of people. I know some of those people, and there are more to come. 36 families a year in this tiny, independent Refuge. This Refuge that’s been running on the smell of an oily rag for a very long time, and giving love to people who may have forgotten what that looks like. Together, we’re going to allow the staff of the Refuge to do their job. We’re going to make it so that they never need go without again. We’re going to boost these women and children in small, and big, ways. We’re doing that. You’re doing that. We are a resource, a valuable resource. And we’re simply there to make sure that the people who run this lovely place are able to keep doing that, and to fulfill their vision. Thank you. Thank you all so much.

People helping people

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Today was a very busy day. Let’s call it Community Outreach work. There was dropping off of stuff, and money, to Miss A this morning. And then phonecalls from Refuge to further discuss Miss A, and their needs. And then a brand new microwave arrived, courtesy of a lovely woman, which needed to be taken to Refuge. I had avoided knowing where it was. There had been offers previously just to drop stuff off there but it was easier not to know, and to act as a drop off point. But the microwave needed taking to them, there was no way around it, so go I did. Glad I am that I made the effort. It’s a small place, hidden away down a long drive way but the only security they seem to have is gates, which they have a chain around, I imagine for locking at night. I parked the car, and stepped out, and who was the person who greeted me, but the one woman that you have all been helping in various ways, with things for her baby that’s arriving in August.

If I expected sadness, I saw none. Only happy women going about the business of cooking a communal lunch, and small children toddling around under the watchful eye of the happy women. Beautiful children who have, I know, witnessed things that no child should ever have to. There are 12 children under 5 there, I have no idea where they fit them all in, but they seem to. So I took the microwave out of the box, installed it for them, and chatted for a while to one of the workers, there. “Thanks for being our friend” she said. I thanked her for letting us all help them out. It’s no small thing you are all doing – whether it be RTing and getting the word out, or donating clothes, or money, all of it is so very much appreciated. Because they have no other means – there is government funding, but the women pay their own way. They stay there for a short while, or a long while. However long it takes them to get on their feet. Many of them arrive with just the clothes on their back.

The woman I have asked you to help, in particular, is one of those women. She and I chatted about her needs – she has enough baby clothes, she says. And she and one of the co-ordinators are making a list of her needs now. For she has nothing, and no-one. Just these women, and her children. A beautiful curly haired, doe eyed child of almost three; her son who is 17 months, and this baby on the way. She had no-one to turn to, but Refuge saved her. They pay her way, because she’s not a NZ resident, and they look after her, and her kids. These are the people you’re helping. The women who have nothing else, and often, no-one else to turn to. Whose families can’t, or won’t help them. They may have no family here, but the partner who made their lives so impossible that to save themselves and their children they had to leave. So know, that you are good people, helping other good people. That they need your help more than ever, so that they can find their own way out of a scary and demoralising situation; that your help enables the refuge to carry on it’s good and great work of looking after people who have forgotten how to do just that.