In-Kind Diaper Drive Donation Form: Fill & Download for Free

This is most often seen where private groups or organizations take action for some form of disaster relief.For example, recall Hurricane Sandy, which devastated large parts of New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut back in 2013. Thousands upon thousands of people were made homeless, incomes stopped, and many people lost everything except the clothes they were wearing.Scores of churches, service clubs, social organizations, first aid corps, volunteer fire departments, and many others collected donations, and then distributed them among those dispossessed by the storm. Everything imaginable was donated: food, clothing, tools, toys, blankets, furniture, cooking utensils, generators, flashlights, sanitary napkins, diapers, dog food, infant formula, rainwear, candles, and thousands of other items.My Rotary district in northern New Jersey, 50-some clubs, banded together to help.First was collection. One of our members owns several large store buildings, along a major highway. At that time, one of his buildings was between tenants. It was a store about 50 feet wide, and about 150 feet deep. We were able to fill that entire building with donations, almost up to the ceiling and wall to wall. All the kinds of stuff listed above, and much more.That sounds amazing, but it’s true. Even more amazing, is that over a two-week period, we filled and emptied that building four successive times!Next came distribution. We are a bit inland, so no disaster relief was needed in our immediate area. But areas on the Jersey shore, and the Long Island shore, all 30 to 100 (and more) miles away were in desperate need.We were able to obtain donations of trucks and vans, of all descriptions, to be used in carrying the goods down to distribution centers and aid facilities all along the coast. So we had an army of volunteers, collecting and sorting the donations, then loading the vehicles, driving, delivering and unloading the goods — and repeat, again and again.Of course, the State governments helped immensely. The Feds sent in batallions of people and flotillas of equipment, for the relief effort. Food, clothing, bedding, health care, and money. Churches helped. Temples. Mosques. Old ladies groups. Scouts. Firemen and police. A massive public effort, helping a million people impacted by that devastating hurricane.Uncounted tons of goods were collected, with donations coming from as far away as New England and the midwest. Every bit and scrap of those donations made their way to the Jersey and New York and Connecticut shores.Yes, every bit of useful goods donated, was in turn given away — taken to the people in need, and handed out unreservedly, to help families stay together, survive, cope with the dissster and eventually to recover. Every bit was given away, right where it was most needed.

This answer may contain sensitive images. Click on an image to unblur it.It depends upon how you view death.I sat at the hospital/rehab for about a year and a half at my mother’s bedside as she lay dying.It took a really, really, really long time. Eventually because of how dysfunctional and annoying she was—-some of her own issues that got her there:diabeteshigh blood pressure5 way bypassleg amputationmini strokes/dementia.What helped in my initial week long visits and then finally going to live there for a year and a half was I was one of the few relatives left who had a complete life history of my mother. So I could help ascertain just how much dementia she was going through. Turned out she was slightly verbally impaired and manual dexterity impaired but she admitted one day when I was crying that she was playing up the dementia to manipulate those around her for kicks. I promptly cursed her out.Being there initially was like a longer than week or two visit, like an extended holiday—-then you realize no one will be dying that week or the next. That meant I wandered around Charlotte for a couple of weeks then got a seasonal job at Belk’s department store just to have something to do.Sitting with my mother sometimes 5 days to 7 days a week eventually raised my blood pressure and the doctors were worried about me. As a side lark, I donated plasma twice a week for like $75 (everyone uses it down there for gas money—-I used it for grocery money—-and sadly, something to do, a nice mile long walk in the perpetual springtime, somewhere to go. But they health screen you before each donation and my blood pressure was going up. They have me sit with the doctor and we narrow it down to I’m visiting my mother 7 days a week. He tells me to cut it down. I cut it to 3. I get better.)Sitting with my mother, her siblings dead, her husband vanished, her cousins vanished, we talked a lot. She was extremely needy—-”hold my hand!”—-which grows extremely old—-hour 200—— of holding someone’s hand—-who is dying, like an inch at a time.There comes a point where you realize it’s a big pity party and you’re one of the architects so you try and be constructive—-not visiting during physical rehab, bringing magazines, bringing DVDs, etc.—-you try to be purposeful rather than just present.You realize after a few weeks—-when no one is dying that week, that presence isn’t really totally helpful—-it has to be a form of productive presence.When you get to productive presence, you start having big, hard, challenging discussions about their life, death, the after life.At first, being younger and my mother’s last 10 year career having been as a pastor, I didn’t think I would have anything to offer her—-but here’s what I learned—-the more people dove into religion in life, the more it fails them in dying. I actually thought this then saw a film, Griefwalker, where the social worker talks about it, and dying.I became my mother’s Death Counselor.The unique qualifications of a Death Counselor are you don’t offer bullshit or mental masturbation or ego stroking. They’re dying. Bullshit is literally like bullshit on the white walls to the dying—-they want someone truthful in what they are truthfully experiencing.She asked how she’d been as a mother?I gave her a solid B+.I told her that her gender, her sex, the society she grew up in, her addictions, her personality foibles, her family history—-solid B+. No bullshit.We talked about what she had given me—-sometimes the fact stuff she had done that were life errors showed me how to live better, do better. For several years, because she had to drop her friends, as a teenager she took me to AA and NA meetings—-it was like live theater!But I’ve never done drugs nor have a problem with alcohol. It taught me to deal with my shit in life.We talked about her choices in husbands, including my father and how she was ashamed and dissatisfied with the last one but got stuck with him—-she’d bought him with her minor wealth, they’d squandered the money—-and were sort of stuck together.We talked about life/past pains fusing what you thought you were worth and settling. She talked about manipulatively “playing” he and I against each other—-I stayed away after leaving for college—-and as an only child don’t/couldn’t feel competitive against him—-but it helped me to understand his hot and coldness, his little digs, his grandiose claims and pathetic needle like attacks. I saw him clearly through pity. He’d wasted the prime years of his life playing mouse in her narcissistic maze.Even when I had to get legal with him because of his colossal financial mismanagement, I was careful not to go for his addiction underbelly, his inadequacies—-I kept in hard to facts rather than let it get viciously personal. He wasn’t so kind. But he still lost.I saw them both clearly as anti-mentors, and I saw the cravenness, the debauchery of self destruction and several times I detached, pointed out to them that the zingers and passive aggressive attacks didn’t work—I was healed in many things, having been away from them so a lot of the targets they were shooting at were detached. But I was content to watch their games. This, I think pissed them off the most.My mother and I talked about what I know and have experienced of the afterlife and I promised that I could hold her hand until the doorway of death but that she had to walk down the hallway of it herself. I encouraged her when the time came to go. What I got sitting there talking, taking days off, visiting in 15 minute bursts then going to type for 30 minutes in the cafeteria then back in for 15 minutes—-to avoid arguments—-was that the vessel that had birthed me was dying, Patricia was dying but that my mother wasn’t dying. I sat down and thought about it and realized she really hadn’t mothered me since a decade prior, before the heart bypass. When she really invested in being ill, in getting SSD, in not working.I threw several birthday parties for her and I in that 18 months, both on and off our birthdays and recorded them, so that I would have video and audio recordings of her saying she loved me, saying prayers together, talking about the 5 things we liked best about the other, just her voice, her way of thinking so that we could have holidays together, moments together then and decades after her body’s death.I wheeled her gigantic jerry chair and her huge body—-miles—-country miles—- all the way to Wendy’s—-at least 2 miles away, then regularly to a church park—-we never made the service—-then to a nearby restaurant, then just around the country roads. Mini-trips before the eventual big trip back to NYC.Our interactions, visits became little mini-adventures—-if she did A well, I would show up and we’d do B. I cursed her out a second time when she was rude to a very nice nurse, I threw the nurse out and went off on my mother. So many people were doing for her, doing their best and she was rude, how dare she?!My mother and I switched roles then, she got that her bullshit was going to be called out—-I would challenge her that if she didn’t like what I had to say, get out of the bed and hop away. If you can’t, then lay there and listen.What happened in that shift was she matured some—-not perfectly but I was reacting to her (and my stepfather) in new ways—-not sulking—-though yes, I did rage on some country roads waiting for buses or walking. I also took time out to date—-one guy several times who was a pleasant distraction—-and then one surprise three-way after the opera—-nuff said!I was able to tell her how she had failed me. She asked about grandchildren, how sad it was that I hadn’t had children yet and I pushed back—-what would you teach them? How to have addictions out of control? Gluttony? Purposeful illness out of depression and laziness that you’ve lost control of? I promised to teach them how to be healthy, to use her, anti-mentor exampling, when they were eventually born. I was direct with, it’s not that I’ve put work/school/life ahead of children, it’s that you’ve ruined yourself so you’re checking out 10 years earlier than your mother, and statistically, 20 years before she should’ve.No bullshit was allowed to fly in that room.The maturity I saw her get was how she had health sabotaged herself for years and by playing at the peak of the roller coaster, she’d tipped too far and it wasn’t reversible now. Her doctor of a decade came and visited all of his diabetic patients there eventually—-all the amputees—-it looked like the war debris set of Lord of the Rings—-and they would still call cabs to go get fast food or have it delivered—-limping, one leg, one arm, half blind. The doctor gently patted my mother’s hand and my stepfather swore that it must be the doctor’s fault—-that it was all a conspiracy.I was able to sit there and SEE reality play out. SEE the truth.Later after all kinds of financial drama and court drama, I brought my mother back to NYC. We took our time—-10 days driving—-for a 15 hour drive—-a good vacation. Hotels, a spa, Wal-Mart, Wendy’s, Times Square, the 7 train, Harlem, a Harlem bus where she said my name so many times that when we got off—-you don’t know how wonderful disability seating is until you’re pushing someone bundled up for the winter in a wheelchair——the driver and ALL of the passengers said goodbye, Kyle!And I’ll never forget, stopping at a fish market/restaurant after a doctor’s appointment, I’m just pushing along and she’s pointing at things and an older woman in a doorway we pass looks at me, points at me and say’s “God bless you.” That I, doubtful, you get deeply doubtful in their last days—-maybe you should just stick them in a palliative ward?—-was treating her well, doing good by her and someone, someone older, could see and verify it. Because ill, my mother was happily chattering along as we strolled/rolled up the avenue.Those jaunts, a chance for her to get out and about. See the world, get some fresh air, wave at dogs and children—-tell people to get the fuck out of the way at sidewalks. Hilarious!She died a month later—-the final week refusing to eat even as I begged her, argued with her, fumed at her—-the day before she died I was exhausted and spent and I watched her looking at me in the living room.I got that she was gone in many ways, CPR had worked a week before but she wanted to stay home. The next day as we were getting ready for a doctor’s appointment, she said I love you and slipped unconscious.The EMTS did their best but she died. I called it after an hour.Then you talk to the police, the hospital, organ donors, funeral homes—-in like 3 days—-friends all give 1 condolence phone call, then vanish. Don’t forget that. They vanish. Embrace the ones who don’t vanish and most importantly, as I have done, when it, death, comes around to someone—-new—-not the vanishing friends—-give them time, attention, funny stories, space to say their vomiting emotional stuff. Even free dinners spontaneously. As I’ve done for several people now over the years as their folk die.But I got to BE with her for a year and half.One of the reasons why I moved there, took a sabbatical, put Columbia and consulting and other stuff aside, was in my teaching/counseling work I’d seen how much men, particularly Black men, were fucked up from the floor up about the death of parents 1, 3,5, 10 years later. I was determined to “do death” right. To be present, to help, to shower love and loyalty and to get closure.My mother had been many things, and through my adult years I often had to put boundaries, hard ones, between us-—spaces of silence—-but she never abandoned me as a child, never gave me up for foster care. I owed that woman.I threw my stepfather out of their house when he lied about seeing another woman, screwing up money—-my point to him that the roles had reversed and she was like my child now. He’d abandoned his children to foster care—-even when my mother offered to adopt them—-I told her that he showed exactly who and what he was by forsaking his daughter—-but they continued.But my mother never abandoned me, even in her dysfunctional mindsets, her stupidity, her self sabotage.I rarely tell this—-but when I was 4 years old, we came home to our apartment and a burglar was inside. He gave my mother the choice of raping her or killing me. She let him rape her. The police were able to catch and prosecute him but the trial was too much for her, he got off. But she offered up the destruction of her body to save me, little old me.My mother gave herself for me so even in all the maelstrom of her madness, I was still her warrior, her knight—-if I had to kill, prosecute, railroad anyone, even her, for her, for her betterment. I would. And, I did facing down fools, family, the police, lawyers, judges, everyone—-I even threatened a cop’s life as my stepfather tried to use him to blackmail me for insurance monies.I owed her my life then and several other times—— like when she hid she was pregnant with me in college because when she’d accidentally gotten pregnant at 16, my aunt and grandmother held her down in the bedroom and aborted a 5 month old boy. My mother saw him, saw his eyes move, then he died and they threw him out in the garbage.At 22 my mother hid me, until she could save up, move out, and then at 8 months she revealed she was pregnant. To protect me. Little old me.I was with her, I held her hand then told her to buck up I was in the room, I didn’t have to hold it every moment. I protected her and moved her big ass up and down country roads and then eventually up the east coast and Queens and Manhattan avenues.She always wanted to be best friends but I kept it as good friends because I’d seen how that bullshit fucked up Black men too. She wrongfully assumed my sexuality meant she would be and stay the primary relationship in my life, I disabused her of that.But I sat in Death with her, dead folk came to me in visions and told me what to do, I consulted a godmother and every smart person I could find on every issue spiritual, emotional, social, financial,legal.She no longer wanted to be either there—-Charlotte—she admitted she’d always disliked so many trees—-the rehab, then eventually life itself, she talked about wanting to go “Home”—-it took both strength and putting myself away to hear her, it took months actually and then act upon making her final requests come to pass—-oh, no one likes you when you follow dying people’s requests.I went to war for my mother. I would do it again. I didn’t always like her but I did love her and in that love I learned how fierce the roar is within me, how many lines I would cross—-how tickled I was when my stepfather called me diabolical in open court—-and he was playing My Game—-as he didn’t know what her and I had decided, constructed, played out against him. He’s still in a huddled ball somewhere trying to figure out when the fuck she switched sides and it was us playing him when he greedily thought he was the smart one.My mother and I were kind of like Professor X and Marvel Girl-Phoenix eventually we were both bald! lol but she was in the wheelchair! One of our discussions was how she should’ve been a male—-she bought my stepfather to have him as an avatar in business when dealing with men and I’m much more feminine spirited—-I learned in nursing her, changing her diapers twice a day for nearly 2 months, cleaning a woman properly to the point where she said I was pretty good at it, being stern but loving. That’s what was missing in our family—-all the older women had died so I had to step in—-we were aware of each other, loyal to each other on levels that people couldn’t conceive because some of it was dysfunctional.That’s why it was so important I stand by her side, hold her hand, move there, move her to NYC and then be the one to let her go. So that she would go.Still occasionally from the Other Side, she visits too much and I have to to tell the ether—-”Ok, enough. I’m fine. Not tonight. Go away. You’re being annoying. You’re being cloying.”Much as she was in life.But now, unbound, she respects our boundaries between Here and There.#KylePhoenix#TheKylePhoenixShow

What if? Who cares? Who is society? Your stereotypic idealism that represents your ego? Society doesn't tuck me into bed at night. Do they you?Are crayons underestimated? I think so. No society loves crayons .Because crayons are all a kid knows. Wrong kids have everything available in the U.S.A. But when he masters the crayon he finds markers. Then he or she begins to find more tools intrigue them. Tools of the trade. Then they reach further than imagined. There's charcoal and paint. There is acrylic and oils, there statues and fine arts. There's CAD's and fabrication. Things that reaches out unlimited. Like wow, all kinds of fun stuff. You'll find that your interests stems into new and exciting things you haven't even thought of. Precept upon precept we aspire. That's why it's a good idea to " choose what you love and love what you choose."Dont stammer thinking your wasting your time. Admitt, your doing what you like. If you aren't, decide to start. Say it. I dare you yell it if ya like with conviction. On your mark, get set, go! Say,"I am starting today to live the rest of my life." Good job.The numbers of people that attend college and enroll in a study for a prestigious position or for the high salary change majors or drop out all the time. Perhaps they're attention wasn't captured. Perhaps they were sold a false value and it didn't add up. Perhaps they want to live the next 7 years not sit in a classroom. Perhaps they want to get to work not think on it 2–4–7–15 years. It would be a long day doing something you don't find enjoyment in some way or another. It's a long day if you don't find it to be full filling. Believe me, I pulled plenty of days in that boat. Like millions, we do what is at hand and climb or sink. We raise our families and hope we have gasoline to make it to work Friday, or worse. But we all lived, we laughed and we cried.I also learned all kinds of skills. know about all kinds of professions. I enabled myself to experience nature and cities alike. I have enjoyed friends from all over the country. From Beverly Hills to the swamps and cities of Florida, from Ohio to Oregon. Hey, I judged a beauty contest too! 100 women in Hollywood. The run off was to be in Vegas for $100,000 I am talking about things can happen. sat next to all kinda famous names and laughed. At the film and music festivals in Utah to the Lowes Hotel in Santa Monica. I am just me. An arrist at that time. No I wasnt a model. Only digference was what I weote on my card. Thats all! I had been both technically. A live model at JC Penny's in the window. And had been a fine arts Head painter for Rick Cain. I almost stepped on Danny Devito one day. Haha People are your connection. Not "society" ok, get that? You be who you want. What if no one was a comedian because the the improv didn't pay good or nothing! What if the guitarist quit because the jam nights didn't pay at all!I realized I have sat in chairs people gave their whole life to get to. Regular, I might add. Funny how I was sitting there and It was no big plan for me ro get to that chair. I just sat down. For me - I like city and country. So not driving force for me there. Does that make life all about sitting in the chair you want your rear in? Maybe so. I don't particularly like sitting around all the time anyway. So where does that leave me? You see?The thing is; the need of individuals differ in what is a full filling to them. What is it that makes time fly. As it is said,"time flys when your having fun" It may be that fun Is a good laugh. Or, is it actually enjoyment? Or possibly a truer truth fun is acquiring great satisfaction. And these things change with life. We get bored when we have inquisitive minds. Checkers is a bore we need a chess set and so forth.Once I went to help bag and box care packages for needy orphan babies in Syria. A woman had adopted a baby from that orphanage. She had slides to view before we started the project that day. The orphanage was three stories tall and and 100's of babies without blankets or diapers no booties or even a shirt. We boxes large boxes full, 100's of them. Heart breaking, it was. The woman who arranged the project had adopted a older baby from Syria that never had shoes. It was a horrific period for the Syrian people at that time. So many killed. Her new adopted child got her first shoes. I think she was about 2. The baby sat for hours stunned and amazed looking at her shoes she had on her feet for the first time. Miracles do happen, it probably seemed quite odd to that baby, I just imagine. We all watched the slide show that the host prepared and she told us of her mission. The mascara was running and streaming tears from us all was not hidden. Afterwards we all went into the gymnasium and folded and bagged all the supplies the women had donated. Stacks of everything on tables and stacks of bags and boxes for us to work with. The women of the Relief Society had sewn blankets and ones that were bought and donated all these things. In each large ziplock bag we put (If I recall correctly) a baby T- shirt, booties, socks a baby blanket, two padded cloth diapers, 2 diaper pins. Along with a heart felt hug of hope And a prayer from the bottom of our hearts, I am sure. That evening I was over at my sisters and my brother in law asked me how was your day? Then and there It was a real awakening. I had been on a emotional roller coaster. I had cried and the sorrow was wrenching in my gut. The charity was amazing and so blessed. The day was amazingly rewarding and full filling in ways I can not even express. I was so grateful to be able to be a part of such a praise worthy work.I share this because I had no clue of the worth of that experience. I felt twisted. Good day or bad day? Words are meant to be experienced. Twisted is real. More ways than one I am sure. Otherwise we do not ever know the meaning or the worth of the experience. or how it's going to affect us. All those words above, fun, full filling, interests, aspire, bore. I say, shall we try and look forward as we experience and learn.So very many things in life we know nothing of. We can not base our life on only a dollar. Was a dollar worth more than those babies getting their needs met? Would it of been? I did it because it presented itself as an option and I could attend. And, I was blessed I had two arms to do it. And a desire and a prayer well placed.So, what if the pay isn't great. If your working thats over half your life! Learn some more about whatever it is, and don't call yourself wasting time. Hire yourself and start a project. Get some other specialized people that want to see something happen. Form a company together and start a business and make some money and do something to make this world a better place.I hope you like your jobs. Because, you'll like life way better. Then everyone you meet will have someone to like and admire because you put some effort forth to be happy. Then you can share some of rhat, not doubt.Or go do what you like after you work if your so lucky to mustard up a second wind. Seek and you will find. A little effort goes a long way. If you lay around and believe what you like doesn't pay and thats what it will do. The man who gets it done is the man who thinks he can. No other man or woman gets it done.I see jobs to do about anything! It's an amazing world. I say get out there and look around. Explore and hunt up your liberties! look on Indeed a job app explore, wow. This stuff doesn't just float down from the sky. People made it happen. It wasn't luck! It was preparedness meets opportunity. Preparedness happens in the dullest of moments and In the stammering of the mind. "Decide"what would really be cool! Write a list as long as possible of what would really be cool for you! Decide what your willing to do and commit to it. Then people will come into your life to help you.Successful people are amused with a good strong praiseworthy aspiration and quest for life. So, believe in yourself and make it happen. We all need good people that can ask a question and think! Show-Em-How It's Done. And please make it be something we can all be proud of.