Let Them Help

Another conversation.

A friend wants to organize folks to prepare and deliver meals.

“Just one a week” she says. I’m stalling. I tell her, “He’s going to work, he’s OK.”
“This isn’t for him”, she says, “This is for you. You need the help.”
I am reluctant.

I keep thinking we’ll need food later, need more help later. I live as if there is a finite amount of help and I don’t want to use it up now while things are relatively manageable.
I think they are but “relatively” is key.
I am stressed and I know it. There is no downtime. I get angry in the car. I feel like every second of my life is scheduled and accounted for. I have a list on my desk and a list in my purse and a list on the passenger seat of my car. I can’t breathe.

John is tired. Yes, he is back to work but that’s all he can do.
I have my job, my writing and then all the errands.
Having some one else prepare a meal once a week would be great. It would cover two meals and cut down on shopping and cooking. John can’t help with those things because of the sensitivity to cold and the neuropathy. He can’t shop or cook.
But I am stalling.

Asking for help means something.
It means I cannot do this alone.
I want to be the one who takes care of him
And I can’t.
That feels really bad.