If You Love Me, You'll De-Ice My Freezer
Week 22: Sometimes support is a Costco chicken pot pie.
The last guy I dated was the best. Really, he was the sweetest- he listened well, he laughed a lot, and he treated me with so much kindness it made me feel embarrassed for everyone who’d come before him. We broke things off because I cannot sustain a relationship right now, but I knew when we parted ways I was giving up someone good.
One of the last conversations we had was about my needs. I’d been talking about how tired I felt, how stressed and overwhelmed. Jack had just recently eased into attending school with some predictability, and I was still on the edge of my seat waiting for that to fall through. I felt like there was never a moment to rest- emotionally and physically.
What do you need? he asked over FaceTime, and then rattled off suggestions- want to go out to dinner? lunch at the taco spot in the city? an afternoon at the Barnes?
Honestly, I said, not thinking much about what I was saying, I need someone to de-ice my freezer.
I heard myself and laughed, and he laughed, but then he said, really? because I can do that.
A few weeks ago I had the privilege of speaking at the Project for Advancing Healthcare Stewardship’s (PAHS) symposium, Planting Seeds of Hope. The focus was on loneliness, and I talked about our experience as a family going through cancer treatment during a global pandemic. Isolation abounded.
That there was an element of loneliness to our cancer years didn’t surprise anyone. What was surprising is the ways in which people showed up to support us- and what some of the most helpful gestures turned out to be.
When Carolyn was in treatment, especially during the first two years, we received more help than I can list- everything from toys left at our door to bills covered by nonprofits to containers of tuna casserole left in the fridge. My mom and stepfather split weeks with me so I could go home and be with Jack, and my friends left their phones on ring and answered frantic falling-apart texts at all hours.
We would not have made it through without support, but I often felt guilty. Help in my life has largely fallen into two categories: begrudging and transactional. I felt obligated to either show some display of regret and apology, or deliver some kind of return. I never learned how to just say ‘thank you’ and move on. I had no idea how to accept help just to keep us afloat.
I also felt guilty that so much of the help we needed wasn’t fun. I knew everyone wanted to give Carolyn toys and hats and wigs she said were too itchy and never wore (a response, I’ll admit, I did not foresee.) They wanted to help cheer her up, which was wonderful because some days lifting her spirits was beyond me.
But while people were doing the wonderful work of cheering Carolyn up, the dishes were piling up, the laundry was overflowing, the mess in our house was multiplying, the medical supplies were everywhere, the prescriptions were late for pickup at the pharmacy, the weird sticky spill in the fridge was turning colors, and the mail was stacked in piles and sliding onto our kitchen floor. I was late to meetings, behind on work, stretched out like a rubber band ready to snap. There was so much out of hand, so many things I needed help with that I didn’t know how to articulate or prioritize what we needed.
I felt guilty about asking for help with things that I knew were chores and inconveniences. I wanted to give my friends ‘fun’ jobs, things they could enjoy doing, or things that would bring them joy. I tried to leave the dirty work for myself- except there was to much of it. I couldn’t keep up.
I also didn’t always have the mental energy to make lists and direct people. When someone would say, ‘let me know what you need!’ often my response would be, ‘nothing, we’re fine.’ When someone took an initiative and just did something, especially if it was a boring/messy/unglamorous something, it struck me.
Once, a friend and parent from the kids’ school showed up at our door with an enormous, sort-of random Costco haul. There was a case of Gatorade (all Carolyn would drink at the time), Doritos, several large Squishmallows, a cheese platter, t-shirts for the kids, a shrimp cocktail ring, water bottles, Tostitos scoops, and an enormous chicken pot pie. The pot pie was delicious and kept me fed for the rest of the week, and I have never forgotten it. My gratitude for the person who delivered it stretches into this moment. I hope one day to pay it forward.
When we moved from the tiny downstairs apartment to our big upstairs space, a friend came over for DAYS and helped me clean out and pack our home into boxes for the movers. My mother cleaned out my fridge, which was so gross (Carolyn was in treatment, there was some overwhelm at play.) I remember thinking, I didn’t know this kind of help was even possible, and then panic setting in, the repeating thought of, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this.
One of the phone calls I dreaded making the most was requests for a ride- when we rode down to the hospital in an ambulance, I’d leave my car sitting at the local ER. I didn’t want to Uber home because of COVID, but I was careful about who I made these requests to because I knew it was a giant pain to drive into the city just to pick me up.
I still remember every friend who said, ‘sure, of course!’ They pulled up to the curb of the hospital’s roundabout, said nothing of my clothes that hadn’t been washed in days, helped me put my overstuffed duffel full of dirty laundry in the car, and asked, wanna stop for food on the way home? Boundless gratitude for all of them.
During the planning for my symposium talk, I did turn over the question: what do you do when you can’t get the help you need? Because there were so many times when, despite everyone’s best efforts, we didn’t have what we needed.
The bigger pieces that we needed when Carolyn was sick were things like paid leave from work, affordable healthcare, supplemental childcare, and another full-time adult to take on some of the work. There were systemic pieces missing that would have gone a long way toward supporting us through our cancer years. Being a single parent through a child’s cancer treatment in a country with no national paid leave policies was a flavor of trauma that I am still processing today.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything to do in the moment, so instead people made casseroles and folded laundry and listened to me cry over the phone late into the night. Sometimes all you can do is what you can do. Help from friends and family members and even foundations couldn’t stand in for failures at the systemic level, but they helped ease the sting.
I didn’t take my sweetheart of a guy up on his offer. I knew things weren’t going much farther with us and I couldn’t in good conscience let a man de-ice my freezer knowing I was about to let him down. But his offer was sincere, and when I think about hands reaching out to help us over the years, his is a standout.
It’s hard to know what hurting people need, but I’ve found listening is a good start. I am trying to be a better listener. I am trying to show up for the boring jobs in peoples’ lives, because I know they’re as important as the other stuff. I’m also trying to stop waiting for an invitation or instruction- I’m trying to just do something more often, especially when the people in my life might not know exactly how to ask for what they need. It’s a gift that we can all show up for one another in whatever ways we are able, and I’d rather apologize for doing the wrong thing than apologize for doing nothing.
Recently a friend with a new baby reached out to ask some questions about the newborn days (which, tbh, feel very far behind me.) I asked if there was anything she needed and then mentally shook myself. Just do something, I thought.
Her response came through- honestly I don’t even know. My fridge is a mess but I’m putting off cleaning it out.
I’ll do it, I sent back. When’s a good time? And then, how do you feel about chicken pot pie?
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I don’t often set intentions or directives on my posts, but this week I’m encouraging everyone to find an opportunity to do something helpful for someone else. We’re all out here trying to make our way along this weird road, and it’s confusing and difficult for so many. If you can find an opportunity to do one thing for someone this week, that’s one good thing in a sea of worry, and that’s not nothing.