Coming to Accept

So, I was home for the weekend for the memorial Mass for my grandparents (well, ok, they only mentioned my grandma. *I* was also memorializing my grandfather, and I imagine my parents were too. Anyway). Today, my mom needed to go grocery shopping and she asked if I wanted to come and get what I needed, meaning, she'd buy me my groceries. I finally said I'd go and get food. So I let her buy me three bags of groceries (more than I would have picked up for this week). My dad said he was proud of me for letting Mom buy me food.

See, the thing is, I've needed a lot of help from my parents. And they have been exceedingly gracious about giving me the help. However, most of the time I didn't want to ask for the help, and even though I accepted the help, I often didn't want to, even though I pretty much usually *had* to. And I didn't like it. I wanted to be independent. But it just wasn't always possible. Some of it was because I made some stupid choices. Some of it was just circumstance, and not something I did. It's taken me a long time to accept the fact that I am not the independent one. I am somehow the kid whose life isn't entirely stable. The one who doesn't know what the hell she's doing most of the time. It's not that I thought my brother would be that person- I didn't, really. He knows how to take care of himself just fine. But I didn't expect to be this person. But I am. And, well, it's all right. I do the best I can, and when I can't, I'm lucky to have the help.