Welcome Guest
Join here
Members Log-In
Privacy Policy

Friday July 4,2008

Do-It-Yourself Life

by Leandra Walker

I had just returned home from visiting family over the holidays. It wasn't easy, doing all the shopping and wrapping and such on my own. John and I always worked together on those things; he would wrap, I'd write the tags. My packages looked pitiful, and I felt pitiful, sorry for myself at doing those things alone that we always shared.

When I got home, it was worse. I came down with pneumonia, serious enough to keep me off my feet, but not serious enough for hospitalization. Somehow I managed to eat and drink and take my medications, but that was all I could manage. How I wished I had someone just to pour me a glass of ginger ale or make sure my meds were on time, or even put a wet cloth on my forehead.

Of course, everything else was just let go. Dishes piled up in the sink. The trash didn't make it to the street, nothing was recycled. I couldn't get to the post office to pick up the mail. When I had to see the doctor again, I was the one who had to dig the car out of the snow. When the furnace quit in the middle of the night, I had to creep down to the cellar to find out what was wrong.

Normally, these tasks aren't bothersome. John was ill for quite some time before his death and I got used to doing all the jobs that he had taken care of most of our lives. But when you're ill, you want a little pampering. I missed that, and I got angry with John because he wasn't here when I needed him. The emotional absence is bad enough, but for once the physical absence was more keenly felt.

You'd think that after two years, I'd be used to it, but I don't know that you ever get used to that missing piece. I finally realized that I couldn't do this alone. I needed help.

I let my friends know how bad it was. They were the ones who picked up my prescriptions, called to check on me daily and brought me juice and soup when I wasn't up to going out. They made sure I would get through the illness without everything going to pieces.

I still miss John taking my temperature and putting another blanket over me. I miss him holding my hand and telling me it's going to be okay. But by relying on my support network, I was able to get through the illness and back on my feet.

Sometimes, getting through is the best we can do. And that's okay. It took a serious illness to remind me that, as determined and self-sufficient as I can be, I can't do it all alone. That it's okay to ask for help when you need it and, in fact, makes your friends feel better because they were able to give to you. It's a gift both ways. And one I won't soon forget.