Last week my dad fell and cut his hand. The nurse at the retirement home bandaged it but thought he probably needed stitches. So Mom loaded up both walkers into the car, and drove the couple of miles to the VA Hospital, where they had to wait nearly five hours for treatment (stitching and bandaging - turns out he broke a couple of bones). In all that time all they had to eat was a bag of popcorn and a bottle of Sprite. By the time they were done it was dark and her valet-parked car was nowhere to be found. A sympathetic security officer took her keys, found the car, and brought it to them. The idea of my 80-year-old mom, stomach growling, wandering around a parking lot in the dark looking for her car really made me unhappy.
And I didn't know about any of this until late the next day, when I learned of it by the email she sent to several family members.
No matter how many times I tell her "call me and I'll come help you," she never wants to bother me, especially when I'm working, so I don't find out until afterward. Even for the follow-up visit this week, she turned down Aunt Suzie's offer of a ride. That's my mom to a T: independent and unwilling to bother anyone else.
And it wasn't until just a few moments ago that I realized I've been doing the same thing for much of my life.
For years I've wrestled with a deep-seated insecurity that made me feel that I wasn't worth imposing on someone else's time. That really is what has kept me so darn stubborn for so many years, only asking for help when I absolutely had to. I just always thought people would resent having to help me, or at least be very annoyed. And that's really stupid, if I'd only taken the time to analyze it. Because if someone asks me for help, I don't resent it, or get annoyed (at least not usually...) Instead, I'm nearly always glad to do what I can when I can. So why shouldn't I allow others the same response? I'm not talking about the kind of uber-neediness that some folks display, always wanting this favor or that favor, but surely a broken-bone-have-to-get-to-the-hospital kind of need justifies asking for (and accepting) a helping hand.
If I'm really, truly brutally honest, I wonder if my stubborn independence is actually a bit selfish with just a tinge of martyrdom. "I don't need help. This is my responsibility. I'll just have to gut it up and do it myself. (Sigh)."
I'm gonna think about this some more. But I'm also going to try to ask for help when I need it, and accept it when it's offered.
And I'm gonna tell my mom that if she doesn't call me next time, I'll kick her butt.
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