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Part of life's learning curve
It's springtime in the heartland. I look out the window and wonder if I'll need mittens or cut-offs to face the day, and I'm struck again by how many things in life, like the weather, are beyond our control.
I had some minor surgery recently. It was nothing serious, just a few days on crutches until I could be up and around. But it reminded me of how easily I take my mobility for granted.
If the trash needs emptying, I tie up the bag and walk it out. If an ice cube springs from the tray, I bend over and pick it up. I go for a walk, feed the dog, lift a heavy skillet, all without breathing a single, "Thank you."
Those who can no longer do such simple activities face a life infinitely more complicated than mine.
I remember how picky I thought my grandma was. When I was a girl, she sometimes asked me to help with projects she couldn't master when I came to visit. She always seemed so hard to please.
If we were setting out bulbs in the garden, she'd want one a little deeper, one not quite so deep. If we were doing dishes, I had to wipe a pan one more time, or dry a glass just a bit more thoroughly before putting it away.
Looking back, I regret my childish impatience. I can only imagine the frustration of sitting and looking at a sink full of dirty dishes, knowing I was dependent on someone else to pick up a rag and clean them, if I wanted it done.
Asking for help with things you'd rather do yourself is hard enough.
Coaching someone to do a pet project in just the way you'd like it done is next to impossible.
During my few days on crutches, I tried not to squirm when my pet projects were ignored, or done in a "different" way. I kept telling myself that it wasn't important, whether there were crumbs by the toaster or wrinkles in the bathroom rug.
I didn't think I was a fussy person. I was wrong. When I couldn't take care of those little nesting duties that I normally tend to, the small things that make me feel like the captain of my own ship when I'm at home, I quickly became my grandma.
I know those little things don't amount to much, in and of themselves. I bet my grandma knew it too. But as small as they are, those hundreds of personal preferences we express every day, in the way we keep our houses, our cars, or our dresser drawers, add up to a part of our identity that must be sacrificed when we can no longer "do" for ourselves. Wherever we are in the cycle of age and maturity, there's always someone ahead of us, and someone behind.
In a perfect world, that would make us uniquely qualified to care for one another. In the world we've got, it's more often a cause for resentment.
The weather changes from day to day, a fact that's beyond our control. Our lives can change, too, in ways that are beyond our control.
I hope I have the wisdom to appreciate what I've got, while it's still mine.
I hope I have the patience to understand what's truly lost, when people can no longer do for themselves those little things that have always made them who they are. Life is a long, long learning curve. When we stop to help one another, we share the wealth along the way.