Thursday, October 2, 2008

Humble Pie

As a kid and teenager, I watched my mom accept help from many sources on several occasions, and I never faulted her for it. After all, she had five kids, we lived in an area where jobs are hard to come by and the largest employer is seasonal, she was occasionally/often a single parent because sometimes my dad's job took him hundreds of miles away and because - sometimes - he just went away.

I always just KNEW, though, that I never wanted to be in that position. We never talked about it, but I believe that it was hard - and probably humiliating - for her to accept the help because she was a strong woman, a strong-willed woman, an independent woman, a smart woman, and she believed in a woman's ability to do ANYTHING (which, she did on a regular basis). And, I was positive that I would never find myself there; I was too proud to find myself there.

Until recently.

About a month ago, we did accept some help. And, I was right. It was hard. It was humiliating. It was humbling. Bub did all of the leg work, and it was probably harder for her than me, but it was humbling nonetheless.

At the end of the day, I thought a lot about what mom did to raise us. There were probably 10,000 things that she did to keep us fed, clothed, warm, and happy that none of us even knew about. As always happens when I think about her, my heart ached for the chance to just talk to her again - this time about the internal conflict that I experienced while accepting the help, how she managed to do such a good job with each of us, how she seemed able to get everything done and still have enough room in her heart and house to take in wayward kids, run a toy drive, be the PTA president, sew halloween costumes (sometimes for the wayward kids), be a host parent for transcontinental exchange students (3 times!), fix dinner, ride her horse, do the chores, read stories, help with homework, be an EMT, teach kids to ride/bake/draw/craft, etc. etc. etc.

At the end of the day, as I surveyed the results of the help (in tears, of course), I decided that Humble Pie is best served with a nice, tall, cool glass of Gratitude to those who helped, and she who came before me.

I think that if she were here and I actually had a chance to talk to her about it, she would just tell me to get over it and do something useful. I don't think that she ever actually drank from her tall, cool glass of Gratitude. I think that she just took more glasses out of the cupboard and divvied that Gratitude up between the glasses and gave it out to those around her.

Ahhhh..... I think I see the lesson that I'm supposed to learn.

1 comment:

Heidiat2nd said...

I don't comment here very often, but I always enjoy your blog! Just wanted to say thanks for your words.