A helping hand

It's been a while since I've been in this space. In my last post, way back last month, I talked about how things were falling apart around the house. What I failed to mention at that time was that I was one of the things falling apart.

Seems my gallbladder was being a jerk, and so it had to go. I had surgery a little over three weeks ago there ain't no gallbladder no more.

I had an attentive - hovering - husband to care for me during my recuperation. He held up his part of the whole "in sickness and in health" vow like a champ. Still, there came a point where he had to go back to work and that left me on my own.

I needed help.

I'm not comfortable needing help. I rarely ask for it. Truth is, I learned early on in life that, for the most part, I would have to deal with situations big and small on my own. I would have to be self-sufficient and I pretty much always have been.

And while I have always accepted this as my reality, I do not apply this philosophy to everyone else. I know too well what it is like to be left hanging on your own in the world, and so if someone tells me he or she needs my help, I will try to help.

Sometimes, you don't even have to ask. 

I do not have the financial resources to write blank checks to those in need, but I offer what I can share - a meal or a ride. I give advice of a personal or professional nature. I help make connections to resources or people. I pray. I roll up my sleeves and dig in. I listen. I offer a hug, a pat on the back, or even a kick in the ass. I call, text or send a card. I will mop the floor, sit bedside, bring in the mail, feed the fish. I will do what I can to help.

Every now and then I get to be the hero - my help is just what is needed. Sometimes what I offer is just barely enough.

Sometimes it is not enough at all.

For the most part, I offer help without condition. I don't particularly expect or need to be thanked; I usually don't want anything in return. Still, I always appreciate a sincere thank-you or a kind gesture in return. I am human that way. It is nice, but not required.

If I do expect something in return, I am pretty blunt about it from the beginning: Here's what I am going to do for you, but I will need you to do this in return. If I feel as though I can't be a help or have reasons for not helping, I say no. Passive-aggressive is not my style.

That doesn't happen very often, though.

And so I found myself needing help recently. I had some issues related to my post-op recovery, as well as the fact I was an emotional mess: cranky, moody, exhausted and sick. Worst of all, I was bored.

I don't do bored well at all.

I didn't want to ask for help. Asking for help makes me feel out of control and vulnerable ... What if someone says no? That has happened and it stings.

The thing is, I didn't even have to ask for help.

My friends swept in like a tidal wave. They fed me and my family. They got me out of the house, sometimes for lunch or window shopping; sometimes just as tag-along while they did their own errands  Cards, gifts, flowers, texts and phone calls brought me cheer when I was down or lonely. They sat with me and chatted, keeping me company at times when I would have been alone. They visited on my birthday, dressed in sweats and pj bottoms in solidarity with me because I was not quite able to wear pants with buttons yet.

And even more than what was actually done, were the other offers: carpool, meals, errands. I had more out-of-the-blue, selfless offers for help than my husband or I needed. What a blessing.

I will not miss my janky, stupid, sucky gallbladder. I have discovered I can live better without it.

I have also discovered I never want to be without my friends. They bless me a thousand times over. I always thought of myself as a giving person, but I have learned I have so much more to share with others.

This experience has left me - well, without an organ - but also humbled by the generosity of others and inspired to be a better friend, a better person.

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." -  Elbert Hubbard