Being Cared For

It’s hard living alone. Much less moving to a foreign country all by yourself. There’s no one to help in the day-to-day life. Whether carrying groceries, or picking up pharmacy meds, or just making sure I’m ok. Let’s not even think about the having fun parts of life.

So it’s always a joy to have visitors that care for me. In December, my siblings. They insisted on me buying “extra” things- the drinks or pantry staples I don’t buy because I don’t have the strength to carry home. Instead they split carrying all the extra products between themselves and ensured they left me with a well stocked pantry. They refused to let me carry most of the groceries on that trip, citing that I had to carry it alone every other time they weren’t there. John took it upon himself daily to do the dishes, and generally tidy the house. He knew the others were coming off exhausting college schedules, so he made sure to spend the extra time to do the dishes and clean. Ruth took care to take a pile of .5 pics (a young people trend, for those as ignorant as myself) and David was the resident selfie taker, capturing the fun memories together. 

So now…8 months later, it was great to have more visitors here. Ben and Stasi carried groceries multiple times, and Jack carried a pot I bought throughout our entire German city, and in general refused to let me carry extra bags; he also stood with me in the long pharmacy queue. But there was also some fun caring that was nice. Ben saw how happy it made me to have a shared Airpod for music, and took care to give one to me as often as possible. They invited me on the nighttime adventures. They bought me flowers, and held my hand walking through town. Jack always queued up my favorite songs, and danced with me- in the kitchen, in the streets, and finally on the ferry in Amsterdam, oblivious to the world around us. There were the evenings spent clustered around a phone, watching stupid IG things together until I fell asleep. The shared bites of food and tastes of drinks, a staple between my siblings, now shared with dear friends as well.

I was incredibly sad when they left, feeling the ache of not being cared for once again. I remembered my one student, who quietly told me about his EMT experiences and how I shouldn't worry if anything happened to me with my Type 1 diabetes, as he was very experienced in assisting with that. Every class he was in, I could feel myself relax, knowing someone had my back. I had a low-sugar incident in Paris, with the boys; While they were initially quite shocked at my drastic change, they were fully supportive and aware once I explained the situation. There is a weight to carry worrying about my health when I'm alone. But in general, here in Lux, I do feel like I do a lot more of the caring, than being cared for. I'm the one with the box of tissues and open couch. I'm the one who has the cup of tea to be offered in sadness, or glass of cremant in celebration. I'm the one to field the phone calls and welcome the newcomers. 

But as I was reflecting, I realized something- the care here is different. It looks like the friend who connected me with a friend so I didn't have to fret about a solo trip. It's the friend who offered to go shopping, and help me cook and carry the food for Friday dinner. It looks like the friend who showed up on the morning of my birthday, to ensure I would get a birthday hug from her. It looks like the student who drove from Frankfurt to make sure I'm ok. And sometimes it looks like a good friend, who drove 30 minutes away at my request, to get ice cream and not be alone in the silent emptiness after the posse left. Of making sure to find an ice cream place for me, when my plans for the grocery store ice cream bars where thwarted by the closing times. Of sitting cross-legged on the wall by the trash cans, talking until 1AM, and actually seeing my hurting heart. That’s the care I have for at present and I'm grateful for it.