Reaching Out

As I was enjoying my morning coffee today, I noticed that a friend posted on Facebook about having a heavy heart and needing a hand to hold.  I don’t know her circumstances right now but for her to say that aloud in a public forum raised a flag for me; I don’t do that kind of thing as a rule.  It’s very rare that I put anything out there for the world to see and if I do, it’s practically anonymous since I put it on Twitter where only a few of my real-life friends can see it.  To some extent, I can understand her public announcement of her current state; I’ve had a rough few days and would have given anything for an outreached hand or a phone call where someone asked “how can I help”.  I’m seen as a strong person, so it is rare that I get offers of help; everyone assumes I can handle whatever is handed to me.  I’m proud and stubborn, so I never ask for help unless I’m really desperate.  And that isn’t often either.  Even when my mom was sick, I took care of whatever I needed to with help from Rob – who thankfully just stepped up and did things without asking.  But there are times, like Friday or yesterday, when I just feel isolated.  Grief does that, so does being alone and being a mom.  I was alone with Emily this weekend again, and although my father and sister came by for a little while Saturday, they didn’t ‘help’. They sat and talked, my sister played with Emily in the backyard, but no one changed a diaper, no one made her dinner or a snack, no one entertained her while I ran an errand alone; being a mom sometimes means that you feel like you have to do everything for your kid, and it means that sometimes you feel like no one understands why you feel the way that you do – meaning, all alone even when you have this little person following you everywhere.  I had wanted to go to the cemetery last week, but couldn’t do it since Rob was out of town; our babysitter was busy this weekend so she wasn’t an option.  I was alone and sad.  I missed my mom, I missed my cat; it feels so strange to walk into my bedroom and not see him there or to get up in the morning and look over to see his food dishes gone.  I was alone in my house with my daughter and I was alone in my head, alone in my world.  Sad because I felt so alone, sad because I felt like I had lost so very much this year and because sometimes when I’m alone I feel like I am losing a part of myself because I can’t be who I want to be and I can’t do what I want to do because first and foremost I am responsible for this little person.  A part of me wanted to scream out loud for help – anywhere, to anyone.  But again, my pride got in the way.  Sometimes, I just need someone to say “why don’t I come by and give you a hand” or “how are you” and genuinely want to hear how I am – the good and the ugly.  It’s rare, way too rare, that either happen.