Asking & Offering Help

When I was growing up, my Grandma Mimi often showed up at my parents’ home for dinner toting a dessert that she said looked “too yummy to pass up.” On many of those Sunday evenings, she brought along the main course for our family meal, too. My grandmother’s generosity was not limited to footing the bill at the grocery store. She was the first to lift a cranky toddler into her ample lap, cooing and rocking him or her into a peaceful nap. At the holidays, she often corralled the cousins into a game of Tripoli so our parents could enjoy adult time in the living room. 

Recently, I was piling groceries into my trunk when a voice behind me called out, “Can you help me?”

I swiveled around. Across the parking lane, an elderly woman stood atop a grassy island in the Publix parking lot. A large purse dangled from one arm, and the other clutched a plastic-sheathed garment from the dry cleaners. 

“Sure! Be right there,” I shouted.

I secured my cart alongside my Tahoe. Rushing across the parking lot, I stepped over a steep concrete curb onto the sod next to the elderly woman. The deep, dimpled smile she offered reminded me of Betty White. 

“Thank you, dear one,” she said. “My balance isn’t so good. So, I don’t trust myself stepping off this curb.”

I glanced at the woman’s feet. She wore sensible shoes, but the grass around us was slick from the morning showers. I slipped my hand under the woman’s elbow, gripping it firmly as I do when I’m out with my ninety-year-old mother. Once I’d guided her onto smooth pavement, she steadied herself much like a bird alighting on a new branch.

We crossed out of traffic and entered the main parking area. My deep stride equaled five of her judicious steps.

As we neared my Tahoe, I asked, “Do you need me to walk you to your car? Into Publix?”

She gazed up at me and dished out another angelic grin. “No dear. Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

As she settled herself, switching her bulky purse to the other arm, I said, “I think you were smart to ask for help.”

She considered me, her blue eyes crinkling in concert with the pleasant upturn of her lips. 

“Oh, I don’t mind asking strangers for help. Not at all. People always comment that it makes them feel good to be asked. Have a blessed day,” she said.

“You, too,” I said, and with a nod of her neatly coifed white head, the Betty White lookalike was off, puttering at her own pace towards Publix.

I stowed the rest of my groceries and couldn’t help but think of Grandma Mimi and how she stepped in to make life easier for others. I wondered if it was in her nature to do so or whether she deliberated about compassionate gestures. In contrast, when “Bette” called out to me, I jumped at the chance. Yet, unlike my grandmother, I hadn’t sought out the opportunity. 

My grandmother and the Betty White stand-in made me think about the difference between asking for assistance and offering help. When someone summons the courage to request aid, they acknowledge their vulnerabilities and shortcomings. Swallowing pride, they hope that their appeal finds an empathetic soul, one who has the time and means to assist with their needs. 

It’s fascinating to note how some folks have no trouble asking for help while others find it tedious or demoralizing. And yet, there are plenty of people, like my grandmother, who seem to cheerfully seek out a chance to do a good deed. As I age, I aspire to be like both ladies. I want to be that pleasant woman who doesn’t give a second thought about flagging down a stranger for help. And I hope that like Grandma Mimi, I will conjure ways to make life easier for my family and friends. 

Sounds like a new year’s resolution, doesn’t it?

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