February 23, 2015: I’m an independent sort. I live alone, and I rarely, if ever, ask for help. I recently had bunion surgery, which greatly inhibited my mobility, and made everything hard. Really hard. It’s hard to dress. It’s hard to shower. It’s hard to dry your hair. Stairs? They really blow. I haven’t asked, but people have showed up anyway. They’ve brought me dinner. They installed my new router. They got my mail. They’ve come and watched stupid movies with me. They’ve gone to the doctor with me. My mom and dad treated me like royalty for an entire week. Friends have brought groceries. They’ve sent texts … called to see how I’m doing.
This lack of mobility is temporary. I know that, so it’s bearable. But there have been a couple of times that I haven’t held up as well, and today was one of them. I had to get gas, and I nearly fell down … trying to manage my debit card, the gas cap, the gas hose, the crutch. It was just so damn hard. I bit my lip all the way home, trying not to cry.
And then I got home. And I came home to this. My neighbor had come over, taken out my trash and recycle, and stacked a bunch of extra cardboard I had in the garage to the curb. I didn’t ask. But they showed up. Friends. They just show up. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.
