Being On the Receiving End

This week, as we drove into town from the latest treatment, we noticed a car wash going on at the Visitor's Center, with lots of kids and teens hosing down cars and waving signs to flag down more customers.  Their signs proclaimed they were the "Service Club."

We hadn't been home long (I was exhausted) when we got a call from our sister-in-law.  She wanted to ensure we were here, and warn us we'd soon have visitors.  Sure enough, after awhile, the kids ecstatically informed us (and half the neighborhood) that a lot of cars and people were coming to our house.  I nearly ran out the back door to hide.

Instead, I braved the crowd on our front porch.  I recognized them as the group we'd passed earlier, running the car wash.  They handed me a fat envelope.  When I opened it and saw the wad of cash inside, I burst into tears.  As one of their adult leaders explained, they'd just formed a service club for kids in our community, and decided to make me and my family their first project. I was deeply touched.

I've always tried to be an independent person, so being on the receiving end of service doesn't come naturally.  If I know someone else needs help, I jump in without hesitation; but I'm not so good at asking for help when I need it.  I find it very difficult to admit to others that everything is not so hunky-dory as I make it seem.

Steve and I constantly get the question: "How are you doing?"  My standard reply is: "Fine. I'm handling the treatments really well."  I like to pretend that my life is still pretty normal.  But reality has a way of bursting my bubble every so often.  Even though I've had it relatively easy so far, this battle takes its toll on my morale.  There are days when I feel that my battle with cancer is slowly stripping me down to nothing--when I realize that my life will never be the same again--and I mourn.

That's why I'm so grateful for sensitive friends and family.  They brighten my day by diving in and doing things for me, often without being asked, because they know I need help . . . even if I stubbornly refuse to admit it.

So, this shout-out goes to all the people who have brought in meals, watched my kids, given me a home during treatment days, dropped off flowers, washed cars for me, quilted for me (a mysteriously anonymous group), and told me I look like a movie star in my wig when I feel like a circus sideshow.  You guys are all awesome--and I am so grateful for each one of you!