Help

April 4: I’ve been thinking a lot about help lately.  I grew up not knowing how to ask for help.  I shouldn’t burden you, which is a thinly veiled excuse for not feeling worthy enough to deserve your time.  I grew up not knowing how to accept help.  I should be able to do it myself and if I can’t I’m not good enough.  It’s stoicism at its finest.  In others it might be pride.  But I’ve learned in recent years that these are falsehoods. And in the past few weeks I’ve witnessed first hand the sense of connection and belonging that comes from offering, asking for, and accepting help.

Help requires a partnership; there is a giver and a receiver and both must participate for the connection to be made.  The degree of altruism varies.  Often there is a sense of obligation and duty, or a motivation to make oneself look good or feel better about themselves.  It’s an exchange that can be difficult to execute.  Help gets lost in all the noise of who we are, and how we were raised, and what our experiences have been, and how we feel we fit into the world, and even our desire for fairness.  If the partnership is one-sided feelings are hurt and a connection isn’t made.

But help is often just an expression of love.  I express love when I help; I accept love when I allow others to help me.  And that has been my experience preparing for next Saturday’s Celebration of Life.  I offered to open my house to honor the passing of a dear friend because I can, and because I care for the people impacted by my help and would do whatever I could to ease their pain.  I am not alone.  From the beginning the planning has been a collaboration.  From friends offering to pay for invitations and food; to other friends providing beverages and flower arrangements; and yet other friends loaning us tables, chairs and ice chests.  Everyone who shared photos for the In Memoriam slide show.  Those who offered their time to plan and shop for food, to set up before and clean up after.  And finally those whose contribution was a little elbow grease to help clean up the patio for company (please let the weather man be wrong about the rain on Saturday).

All this help given and received for love, to create a special event to honor our friend and comfort all of us left behind, to make what will probably be one of the most difficult days of his wife’s life a little easier.

Sunday was a convergence of family and friends dropping off party contributions, finalizing details, finishing up the big stuff around the house.  We ate Rhubarb pie, previewed the slide show, shared stories and tears.  It was a party before the party; the prep party.

I’m having trouble finding the words for how I’m feeling.  The event is almost here and reality is setting in.  My heart is full from the outpouring of love and support in ways I can’t even describe.  This is the way it should be with people you love.  This is the way he would want it to be, all of us coming together like this to celebrate and to heal.  It’s a testament to him and the kind of man he was.

Then I remember why we’re all gathering and my heart breaks.

This is life.

I am grateful to be a part of it.