You know the old adage, "When I am weak, then am I strong"?
Well... I've learned this week that the opposite is true:
When I think I'm so strong I don't need others... then am I weak.
In general, I don't rank pride atop my list of struggles or weaknesses. I think I'm a fairly humble, meek, teachable person...
... until I need help. It doesn't matter what the help is, really, either. Help with painting my condo or moving or even hosting a party. Someone to take care of me when I'm so rundown and exhausted, I accidentally starve myself for a week and go into diabetic shock. (Yep, that happened.) A hug and shoulder on which to cry while mourning my grandmother's death. Asking for the help I need is almost impossible. Somehow I think I should be able to do everything on my own, and if not, I'm failing.
That, my friends, is its own form of pride. And the last year - especially the last week - has compelled me to humility on that front.
I just like to tread lightly, I tell myself. Other people are busy enough. I don't want to make demands on their time and emotions. We're not close enough of friends that I can crumble in front of them. No one likes an emotional mess, right?
And, worst of all, I don't know how to be anything but strong. Even when I'm not, and when being strong is the last thing in the world I want to be.
So I'll admit it. Losing my grandmother is absolutely devastating. And while I genuinely felt so much support and comfort that first day, I also was at a total loss of how to react, and almost a week later, I'm still totally lost. There's no instruction manual for losing your sole earthly source of unconditional strength and support. I've been emotionally self-sufficient since the bottom fell out on my family when I was 13 and didn't have anyone to lean on - except for my grandmothers. Over the years I've built a phenomenal support system of friends, but my grandmothers had been there my whole life, and I felt like I could claim and expect their support. When Gram died a decade ago, I just rolled that closeness and emotional connection over to Grandma Doris. Without her, I feel so lost. Who do I have now? Add to that an additional 10 years with Grandma Doris in which we made that transition to an adult friendship filled with so many fun moments and important common bonds like temple attendance, and... wow. I still can't quite let myself "go there" and feel the shock because I worry I won't be able to pull out of the grief, especially with the full plate in front of me from now until after the funeral. And there's no one who I feel like I can ask to hold my hand through that journey, either, even as I'm getting more offers for help than I know what to do with. My family is soooooo "suck it up and deal" that I can't recognize when I need to stop going it alone - a not-so-good trait I inherited from Grandma. It is incredibly difficult for me to let go and let others take care of me, even when that's what I want and need.
I keep thinking about when I climbed Mt. Washburn this summer, something I proudly did alone. A few groups of fellow hikers invited me to join them along the trail, and while I did chat with them briefly, I always changed my pace to get back to doing my own thing. It was something I'd been wanting to conquer for decades, and I just felt like I needed to do it solo. But was I truly without help? Nope. California girl that I am forgot to bring a jacket, and mountains get cold, so Grandma sent me off with her windbreaker. And I'd forgotten my sunglasses at the office before heading to Yellowstone for the weekend, but my friend had forgotten his shades in my car a couple weeks earlier, so it was his sunglasses shielding my eyes. And that was actually a total blessing, because his were far better geared for athletic feats than my cheapy wayfarers. Most importantly, at the summit I discovered that the hikers before and after me all saw bears along the trail. Plural. I didn't see a single one, although I did notice their tracks on my way back down. Later I learned that Mt. Washburn is the one hike in Yellowstone notorious for bears... and I sure didn't have bear spray. But I had a Heavenly Father watching my back, even as I stubbornly tried to climb alone.
Well... lesson learned. Even though she's gone, Grandma is the voice in my head, and her love fills my heart. She can't give me her windbreaker when I forget my own anymore, but I can draw from her love forever. And there will always be friends there to lend their proverbial sunglasses to help me if I'm willing to take them up on it. The sunglasses wouldn't have helped unless I put them on my face, and my friends can't help me unless I let them in and take them up on their offerings of support. And again, most importantly, I have a loving Heavenly Father to protect me from dangers both seen and unseen. He wouldn't leave me without the resources needed to succeed and thrive in life. Here's to the next stage of life's climb: learning to lean on the love in my life and climb with the amazing company that surrounds me.
