Responsibility

 Herself speaks.

With the passing of my lovely father, the responsibility for Family Paperwork has fallen to me. I'm slowly gathering all of the Important Papers - bills, tax-related documents, credit card statements, and so forth - and organizing them as best as possible, trying to ensure that everything is orderly and complete, making sure that Mom doesn't have to deal with anything difficult, ensuring that the well-oiled machine Daddy set up during his lifetime continues. 

Honoring his memory through Paperwork. It's a little odd, I know, but it's what I'm doing. It's all I can do for him now, and it's my privilege to be able to do so. 

With this new responsibility, though, comes a few Feelings. And those Feelings are surfacing in strange ways, about tiny things. 

For example: there's a weird piece of trash in front of the house now. It appeared there -- Thursday? I think? -- and I did not pick it up on my way in to the house, because I spotted it on my way in after work and was carrying my briefcase, purse, lunch bag, Beloved Husband's lunch bag, and my laptop bag (it goes back and forth to the office on days when I have Estate Matters to handle during business hours too), so I had no hands free. I could have gone back out to collect that piece of trash after I'd put my things down inside the house, but I did not. I reasoned: other people live here too. That piece of trash does not have to be my sole responsibility. 

And now I am waiting for someone else to pick it up. Will someone do it? Will it take my asking, would you please get that? for it to happen? 

Once upon a time, the feeling that people relied on me to take care of all things both big and small was a warm fuzzy feeling: it meant that people found me reliable, necessary, needed. Being needed meant so much to me. Such confidence in being the Responsible Person, on whom people relied.

Now in the heart of middle age, being needed sometimes is a too-warm coat: oppressive, exhausting. And being the Responsible-Person-on-whom-people-rely, feels a lot like being-taken-for-granted. 

Not to be needed is frightening, though. What if people don't need me any more? Do I have value if I am not needed? 

Philosophically, I can answer emphatically, of course I do. I would tell any human being who might be struggling, that they have intrinsic value regardless of what they are contributing at the moment. That would include myself. 

But in reality, it feels a little different. If I am not needed, would people communicate with me? Want to spend time with me? Reach out to me at all? 

What if I am the one who needs? Would people support that need? Or would they find me oppressive and exhausting?

The thoughts are too big, and I am tired. 

Maybe I will just go pick up that piece of trash, and go for a walk.