My lids are looking down but I am really looking up.

I have a sister. Being older she has held the place of someone I look up to even though she is shorter than I.  She has a way of just showing up with bags. These bags always contain what I need.

She made me a gourmet meal in my kitchen. Anything with shrimp and lemons is gourmet for me. Fresh kale salad. Avocados and tart green apples. Flavor doused broccolini. Healthy. Organic. Tasty.

She sent her juicer over with strict instructions on how and what to feed me so my bowels would move.

She came and redressed my surgery wound  because it was bunching up and causing pain.

She showed up at the ER and taught me how to use a bedpan.

She coached me on the use of crutches and later my walker. Staying mobile will minimize risk of blood clots.

She sent me text messages to eat yogurt and prunes to keep my bowels moving.

She paused for a moment while preparing a meal  in my kitchen. While I ranted, she gave me one of her signature looks and shrugged. Then returned to the task at hand. She showed me how to let-it-go-and-move-on.

Everyone needs a big sister.

The Help Friends Bring

People visit.

Laugh-together friend brings food and her granddaughters. Talking. Laughing. Little girls always brighten up a room.

Close-to-my-heart friend brings food and her mom. Massage. Laundry basket. Friends help me with those little things I can't do, like carry something in my hands.

Discuss-big-ideas friend brings food and a movie basket. She caught me when I lost my balance sitting down then she recapped the weekly Bible study. Friends are life lines.

Friends brings more meals in throw-away containers.

More friends call. My message box fills with love and cheer.

Hubby-dear networks with a friend who loans us a wheelchair that fits through the door.

Friends are  like an army. Strength. Unity.

Gentle-friend drops off two walkers and an elongated exercise ball. Travel cosmetic bags full of goodies like chap stick, wipes, hand sanitizer, lotion, powder. Her shower chair awaits my first shower.

People who have danced this dance before just know things.

My church pastor waits with us before the OR.  He waits for pain to subside in the ER.  He reminds me of the word ubiquitous. Life comes out of his mouth. Love. Hope. The Designer. My Creator.

Sweet family members pay for housecleaning.

Quilting-friend brings us her daughter and a clever contraption that keeps water cold and pumps it through a flexible pad. I place this flower-shaped pad on my knee to keep the inflammation down.

Everyone has learned the steps to a new dance. People share their stories. 

Everyone has a story.