There's something so soothing and comforting about a good rain storm after a long dry spell. We haven't had any measurable rain here in Portland for the past month or so, none that I can remember anyway. This afternoon while Dear Hubby and I have been sitting here in the living room relaxing, the heavens opened up and it poured. It's freshened the air and perked up all of the dry and dying foliage. The eaves are dripping and the bird bath is almost overflowing. The little house sparrows are just beginning to come out and gather at the feeders again. Patches of blue are visible between the emptied-out clouds.
It's been a couple of days of recuperating for me, now that I'm home from the hospital. I've been trying to graciously accept any help offered to me by Dear Hubby and my daughter instead of insisting, "No, no...that's ok. I can do it." Why do I always think I have to do it, anyway? But it's a hard thing to do, to back off and let someone else take over when that's the way I've had myself programmed all my life. Or the way I'd been programmed from the time I was a little girl. I have been chastised and admonished and warned by a lot of people that I've been doing too much too quickly too soon after my previous surgery this year. I have gotten emails telling me to "Slow down! Slow down!" People asking, "Are you sure you can do this? Or that?" Or "Can't you take a few days off?" And I have smiled and pooh-poohed their concerns away with a flick of my hand. "Nahhhhhhhh. I'm fine. I can do it."
Funny thing is, I couldn't.
But it took knocking me three sheets to the wind and landing in a hospital operating room again that finally drew me up short. Showed me that I am, indeed, human.
Something that, when it comes to admitting weakness or vulnerability, is hard for me to do. I've been programmed to think I'm super-human. As capable as "the boys". As strong as a moose. No tears....no, not me. You don't cry. Crying is for sissies.
Until Wednesday when, totally unbidden and unexpected, tears seeped out of my eyes. Trickled down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. And frightened my little grandson who was snuggled next to me in the rocking chair, causing him to whimper and say, "No, no! Mawmaw, no!" and patting my arm in comfort. Which made the tears flow even harder. And I could not stop them. I had gone beyond my limit. There weren't any more fumes to run on. I'd had it.
So, here I sit, gazing out at the late afternoon lite. Chloe dog snoozing at my shoulder on the back of the sofa. And I realize it's not so bad, being human. Giving in to my weaknesses and admitting I'm not indestructible. Admitting it feels pretty good, just sitting here with my dog and doing nothing.