Sadly Thankful

She knocked on my window as I was backing out of the parking lot. She was small, bundled up in a parka and shaking. She was pulling an empty roller bag with an incongruent flower pattern. She offered me a paper she had: Thanksgiving Giveaway - Indian Walk-In Center, Wednesday, 10 a.m.-3:30 p.m.

She didn't speak much English. Practically nothing. She said she was from Ukraine. Not good. She used her fingers, pointing like a gun. War, she said. My country not good. I sick, she said. Yes, her hands were shaking and she looked pale and tired.

Family, I ask? She shakes her head.

Then the thank yous. Her hand went to her heart. Thank you. You are my baby. Thank you. And she kissed my hand. Over and over.

There was a long line, around the corner and into the street, of people waiting at the Walk In Center. She would have to wait for hours. She got out, kissing my hand again, kissing my cheek. She takes a few dollars I gave her and hold them to her heart. Then she leaves.

After dropping her off, I take some clothing donations to Crossroads Thrift Store. Not a lot, but some heavy coats. The clerk comes out and tells me this is just what they need - coats and clothing for men. She hugs me.

What I've done is nothing. I am trying to be thankful, sadly thankful for what I have. What's the difference between feeling thankful, lucky or guilty? They overlap in curious ways.

Today, the day before Thanksgiving, I feel thankful for all that I have, all that I was born with, and all that I can give. And I feel sad and helpless for the world.