"Just call when you need help: I'll be there."
But it's not true. They won't, all. Or they'll come and not help, or they'll come and make things worse. Or they show up the first day, but they don't show up the next time. Or they just get sick of helping.
And that's one of the things that sucks most about having chronic, disabling illnesses: There are just some things that you can't do on your own.
So you ask for help, and you're supposed to be - you are, even - grateful for what you get. But it's not always what you need, you know. It certainly isn't always what you'd like.
Sometimes, it'd be nice not to have to ask. Sometimes, it'd be nice if people just put 2 and 2 together and realized it equaled 4 without you having to call and tell them so.
Sometimes it'd be nice if people just showed up, ready to work. And didn't fight with you about the work you needed them to do, or amongst themselves over who was doing the most work. If they didn't fall asleep in the middle of the job, or stop often to text their friends. If they were genuinely pleased to be able to help you out, instead of making you feel like the least capable adult of their acquaintance. If they showed up when they said they were going to, and stayed till the work was finished.
If they realized that asking for help is sometimes just as hard as giving it.
And while I do have a few people who've come and helped and don't make me regret asking, and a few people I probably could've asked that would've helped better, overall, this whole 'getting people to help you move' thing has been horrid.
Considering that my siblings often make promises they then fail to keep, I shouldn't be surprised, but I am.
This moving thing - it's a big deal. And yet, it's also not. It's not even the scariest thing that'll be happening in our family that day, so let's all just take some deep breaths and motor on through, shall we?
I stopped talking about the whole moving process here for a while because it was overwhelming me, really... I couldn't think about it one second more, so I used this place as an escape hatch, but it's been running our lives for months now. A year with the house on the market, 4 feverish months of searching every open house, and, now that we're down to our last week (!) here, it's all coming to a head: number of storage units (so far), 2; number of rooms empty, 0; days left till all rooms must be empty, 9.
We're not even halfway through this process - we've got to get the rest out, the new house --- we finally found one, thank the goddess --- cleaned and repaired and painted, and then move all of the stuff into the new house. And yet, 90% of our 'helpers' are petering out, everybody is cranky and tired and some are acting worse than the soon-to-be-3 year-old.
It's crazy and sad, and we all just want to be done with it, but we're not. And it's pissing me off that my some of my siblings, who have accumulated upwards of 13 moves in the past 16 years - all of which my mother helped with - don't see this as their responsibility too. Even the one that lives here seems to think it's optional. I know they each have their own lives, I know it's grueling work that nobody really wants to do, but I can promise you that once we're all moved in, there isn't a one of them who won't want to have dinner there on a summer Sunday.
And it'd be nice if they'd remember that this Sunday, and pitch in a little bit more, without making me feel like I've asked for the impossible.