The best advice I’ve received so far: ‘Just let them love you’
About 20 years ago, a family in our church welcomed newborn quadruplets. Their household of three (they already had a preschool son) was transformed overnight into a home for seven, and their suburban dwelling became something like a nursery.
The church rallied ‘round to help this young family, and healthy empty nesters that we were, we decided to join the effort. Every Saturday morning for at least a year, we spent several hours with them, helping however we could: feeding, rocking, diaper changing. Soon my assignment became making bottles for the day, maybe a couple dozen of them to be stored in a small refrigerator in the garage.
We were only two in an army of helpers. Volunteers were coming regularly, in addition to a mother’s aide with daily duty.
After several months, I said to the dad, “It’s a challenge to have so many people in here helping, isn’t it?” He smiled and shook his head in agreement before we moved on to the next crying infant.
Admitting the need
I’ve thought of that family more than once since I’ve donned the “caregiver” label. It has taken me some time to acknowledge the help I need or may need and to receive it without protest.
It’s not easy to accept help, because by accepting it we admit to ourselves an inadequacy, a need, a deficiency. To accept your outstretched hand is to admit I’ll sink and drown if I try to find my footing by myself.
A minister friend told me years ago about a campaign his church sponsored. They distributed forms on which people could write down either 1) how they needed help or 2) how they could offer help. The idea was to match the helpers with the needy. You guessed it. There were two or three times more offers than requests.
It’s a universal instinct. Old men climb ladders to clean their gutters long after they should have decided their feet would never again leave the ground. Married couples struggle in dysfunction for months or years before acknowledging to each other or some trusted friends that they need a counselor.
Hiding the fall
The other night on the way home from a concert, a woman beside us tripped on the curb and fell face forward on the asphalt, stopping herself with outstretched palms. A policeman rushed over to help. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, yes,” she insisted as she scrambled to her feet, straightened her skirt, adjusted her necklace, and joined the flow of pedestrians crossing the street.
All of us can see ourselves in her rush to look like nothing at all had happened. No one likes to fall. No one likes to be seen sprawled on the pavement while everyone else is briskly walking by. No one wants to be less-than. No one wants to need help.
Accepting the love
I was talking with my son on a long ride to the airport last summer. It was the first extended time we’d had away from his mom during the several days of his visit.
“I know we’re not as much fun to be with as we were before,” I told him. “We get together with our friends every weekend, but I worry that sooner or later spending time with us will feel more like a duty than a pleasure. I don’t want to be an imposition.” I realize now this was all in my head. Our friends have been gracious and giving and available. They’ve expressed their commitment to us for the long haul.
My son knew I was overthinking, and he quickly responded, “Just let them love you.”
My son knew I was overthinking.
It’s sound advice, and I’m trying to follow it. We visited a friend in Lexington with another couple, and I accepted the offer of our hostess to give us her bedroom next to the bathroom while she moved into a guest room downstairs. I would never have allowed that just a couple of years ago.
Our friends (the ones I was worrying about with my son) staged a birthday party for me at our house (where Evelyn would be most comfortable), and they brought everything from table service to decorations, plus all the food.
We posed with friends at the birthday party they staged at our house several weeks ago.
We have dinner invitations (one this week and one next week) from two different couples who want to do something to reach out. And I’ve already written about the freezer full of food other friends left with us on their Memorial Day weekend visit. Meal planning, for now, consists of “What shall I thaw and microwave this evening?”
I’m very grateful. I don’t take it for granted. I enjoy it, even under a shadow of uneasiness each time I receive with very little to give in return. I figure I need to get comfortable, because the help I need now may be only a taste of the greater measure of help—and love—I’ll need in years to come.
