Help

I have been under a lot of stress lately, between work and a family illness. It seems the pain never goes away. And it only serves to remind me that my brother is not there anymore for me to call. He certainly would have had a solution to my problems or issues. He would have cared about my father-in-law.

I learned from Fred's passing that all three of us kids don’t like to ask for help. I think we just don’t want to seem helpless, as we grew up in a home where many felt for whatever reason, having lost our head of household and father, that we needed help. So we might have instead chosen to be stoic so as not to appear helpless.

My son has some of that in him. I have a better chance of seeing the unemployment rate suddenly drop than to get him to open up. He won't ask for help; he instead will act out in a fit of anger or frustration.

Like me.

So I walked into and out of Elmhust Hospital Center on July 3 and 4, 2010, two of last year’s hottest days. It is difficult to imagine that weather now that it is endlessly snowy and cold.

July 4, the day my new puppy Gracie was born, was the last time I saw my brother (sort of) alive. I talked with him for the last time, only this time, the extreme conversationlist did not respond. I told him about getting back in touch with Greg, and my other friends, and work. I prayed. And I scurried down the hall into my husband’s arms, crying uncontrollably.

Because it’s an intelligent person who knows to ask for help. I know that now.