Help Me Out

I had a really strenuous morning, my oldest purchased a washer and dryer for her home. But apparently no one planned on how to get them into the house. Like any good parent, I woke up my night owl of a youngest son to help me out. I was a little apprehensive about tickling this job. It wasn’t going to be an easy task, the washer and dryer had to be taken up some steps and through two narrow doorways to get to the laundry room.

It’s been a few hours since the job and so far, only my lower back and left shoulder are a little sore. At the moment, I’m having no more ill effects. My hearts not racing, my bowels haven’t gone on a rampage, and I’m having no shortness of breath. I know, I know my son was keeping a sharp eye on me. And if my PCP catches wind of this, there will be hell to pay.

I’m grateful for my son’s help, grateful my daughter keeping her texting to a minimum, and yes I know my son and daughter were texting each other about me. So I guess I should be grateful for them doing that as well. Way back in 2015, I learned all about asking for help. Especially when I was sitting at the foot of my bed downing in my own fluid unable to call 911.

I depended on my whole family during this time. They basically fed me, washed me, and give me my medicine. For six months I wasn’t allowed to drive and even now, I’m still not supposed to drive alone. So as I lay here now listening to my better angels. I have a grateful heart that I’m surrounded by family that’s willing to help the old man. Now I’m going to shut up and get some rest.

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