I have very distinct memories of being sick as a little girl. Whenever I was under the weather, my dad’s job was to go the store. He would come home with ginger ale, crackers & chicken noodle soup. And depending on what was wrong, the dreaded Pepto Bismol or my favorite Smith Brothers black licorice cough drops.
After I wrote my blog post about being A Good Sick Person, I thought back to why I equated food and drink with being sick in the first place. It was then I remembered the ritual of me finally admitting I was sick and resigning myself to the couch, the thermometer and my mother’s watchful eye (I really loved to play outside and hated being cooped up). My mother would decide what items were needed from the store that would help me feel better and my dad was in charge of the hunting/gathering.
Dad would arrive home, paper bags in hand with my cure and when I felt well enough, I would enjoy every sip of that icy cold Canada Dry ginger ale. Eventually graduating to crackers and then the final test of chicken noodle soup. If that stayed down and the fever receded, I was declared well enough to rejoin the land of the living and get back to school or playing outside the next day.
As an adult, I recall the many times I would head home early from work, feeling sick as a dog. What I would have given to be able to give my dad my order and have that paper bag (and my dad) show up at my door. Instead, if able, I would drag myself into the grocery store or drug store on the way home, shuffle up the aisles, grabbing what I needed and drive home. Once home, I still had to put everything away, make up my own sick bed, take my own temperature, pour myself a big icy glass of ginger ale before I plopped into bed to wait out whatever creeping crud I had going on .
Fast forward 30 years. In the rare events I get sick BEFORE I got to work, Danny is kind enough to play the role of bag man and pick up what I need before he heads off to work. It makes me thankful to have someone to take care of me when I need it most. And of course, I am happy to return the favor when the tables are turned.
It’s interesting to think how we are taken care (or not) of as children shapes what we come to expect as adults. In my case, I had that doting father as a child and had a rude awakening when I was on my own and had no one to take care of me. I became SO good, in fact, at taking care of myself that I had a hard time accepting help from others. I played that off as being independent, but deep down, I’d been burned a couple of times and was afraid to let my guard down and let someone truly take care of me.
There are two distinct lessons here for me. Learn to take care of yourself as you’d like to be taken care of. That might mean making sure you have all the things on hand you might need for any given reason, whether illness or just general self care. And when you have someone in your life who wants to take care of you, let them. Don’t let your ego get in the way of accepting love and care from another. Caring for others and graciously accepting care are two of the most beautiful things we can do in this life.
So the next time you need to be taken care of. Whether it is your knight in shining armor or you stepping in to save the day for yourself with that brown paper bag. Accept that offering in humble gratitude…and take care.