I admit I am used to folks helping me. I am generally in some degree of pain, and my movement is limited, sometimes more so than others.
My good friends know this, and usually ask questions when I am with them, "Are you okay to sit here? Do we need to stand up and walk? Can I get you anything?"
I appreciate it. Makes me feel loved and understood.
But yesterday, I went to Best Buddy's house (here after mentioned as B.B.) She of the broken leg. She of the very long legs.
Not a good combo, no matter which way you look at it.
For once, I got to pet her a little. Toted her stuff. Set her shoes out of the way, locked the door, stuff like that.
Made me feel good, and I hope it helped her.
To be honest, I'd rather be on that end of the stick, but I hardly ever am. For me (and for B.B., too) it is far easier to serve than to be served.
We don't like being helpless, or hurt.
But sometimes, you know, that's just the way it is.
No comments :
Post a Comment