You may have read a column I wrote two months ago about the firefighters who had to come to our house twice in one night. For some reason, which I’m clueless about, you, my incredibly wonderful readers, took that column as a cry for help from me.
You see, a section of my column focused on the humiliation I felt when the firefighters saw the chaotic mess my house was in. I’m not just talking clutter.
Picture this: a 50-foot tall, giant Hercules picking up an entire Ringling Brothers circus, and then turning it upside down and dumping the whole massive shebang into one gigantic pile of balloons, contortionists, mimes, acrobats, jugglers, shiny tubas, rubber chickens, souvenir hawkers and clowns, all enveloped in a spinning whirlwind made of cotton candy.
If you can picture that, you’ll have pictured what the house looked like.
Also in that column were brief mentions of my spinal cord injury, as well as my husband Bob’s struggles with dementia.
But my goal for the column was to focus on the firefighters, not on me.
So, it surprised the heck out of me when emails, which I’m happy to say normally come pouring in, came in droves this time with every reader lovingly offering to help me either with housecleaning, or really any kind of chore or errand.
One couple, Rose and Bill, whose picture you’re seeing, would like to help me by making our home more handicapped accessible, as well as adding outside lighting, doing yard cleaning, laundry, preparing meals ― well, anything for which I need help.
Rose’s initial email: “After reading the latest article about you in the Cape Cod Times, I felt moved to offer up my assistance. Because I am a complete stranger to you, I would be more than willing to meet with you and provide personal references.”
I wrote back, “As of now, Rose, you are certainly not a stranger to me.” I told her, “I hope you receive as many blessings as you give.”
From Rose: “I consider myself blessed that I am able to serve others. Bill and I are delighted to be of service to you and Bob. It brings us great joy!”
Right before Christmas, I opened the door as they made a grand entry into our home while singing, “We wish you a merry Christmas,” as they carried in a mountain (a mountain!) of presents, homemade treats, and meal fixings.
For them, I had put together a festive holiday basket filled with kosher foods they hadn’t had before (babka, rugelach, knishes, blintzes) and piled high with dog treats, cookies, chocolates, and nut mixtures.
I have others now on my team. Cindy, a gorgeous tall young woman with a knock-out mane of blonde hair and a personality just as beautiful, also made a Christmas stopover. A big bouquet of red and green chrysanthemums rested in her arms along with homemade oatmeal cookies, brownies, and shortbread, accompanied by presents galore, which included not-to-be-surpassed bagels from New York City. Oh, heaven can wait.
I’ll tell you though; my house couldn’t be cleaner. Why? Because before every single housecleaner visit, I spend half the day cleaning the house. I mean, I can’t invite someone over and have the place a mess.
And it’s weird having someone clean for me. Cindy, for example, vacuums. So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit on the couch and watch her vacuum the carpet right in front of me? I just can’t. So I jump up and grab a broom.
Having people clean my house is exhausting.
Cindy is experienced in caring for people with dementia, so she communicates soothingly and expertly with Bob. Last week, while she was cleaning the tile floor, she gently encouraged him to help by asking him for more paper towels. When he completed his task, he felt proud.
You know, I’ve never agreed with the notion that there’s nothing you can do to help dementia victims. You see, people like Bob not only feel better but actually improve their ability to master recurrent tasks with practice and gentle encouragement. Cindy knows this, too.
And so, I’ve always had trouble asking for help. All around me are support systems that I didn’t know were there. Although I have never been a “joiner,” I now find myself languishing in the loving emotional embrace of my caregiver support groups. There, peers with my same issues offer suggestions for challenges we have in common. And when times are tough, I feel like I am one of many snuggled in a bird’s nest between my sisters and brothers, keeping one another warm and safe.
Seeking support, I’ve connected with people who want nothing more than to help those in my caregiver/dementia world. People like Stacey Cullen, caregiver and support services coordinator at the Barnstable Adult Community Center, would drop everything in a heartbeat to help me. Well, to help anyone.
But I have had to change, meaning I no longer sit back waiting, afraid to ask for help. Instead, I actively, though shyly, take the first steps to connection, to (bottom line) the giant umbrella I call caregivers of the community, which also includes the Barnstable police and fire departments. All I ever had to do was ask.
Until recently, I’ve always said, “No thank you,” to all those offering to help me. But now? Well, my New Year’s resolution is to say, “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” to the many angels, some in disguise as strangers, right here in our Cape Cod community ― where they’ve been wanting to help all along.
Award-winning columnist Saralee Perel lives in Marstons Mills. She can be reached at: sperel@saraleeperel.com or Facebook. Her column runs the first Friday of each month.
