help me help

My heart was reduced to shattered debris.

I was in the kitchen, getting ready to make a meal after running around all day, when Our Favourite appeared at the door.

"My mom wants you to come."

Oh, but I'm hungry.

You don't want me to visit when I'm hungry.

I was a little perturbed.

As I get when I'm hungry.

But I went anyway, because you never know what kind of help Our Fave's Mom might need.  She's really trying to do a lot of this on her own with our godson, as her husband is working a lot.

I've told her to always come when she needs something.  Anything.

She tends not to take me up on that, and has told me in the past she likes to be alone.  I don't want to be in her face all the time, as I know I would with that Little Angel in this world.

I followed Our Favourite and his mini-me sister.

When I got to their house, I felt rude just walking in to her private space, but she wasn't coming out.  I suppose I had to go against those feelings of awkwardness to see what she needed.

I pushed back the curtain to her tiny room, and saw that they were using the carriage we gave them as a crib.

Yay!  It makes me so happy when people use what I give them.

But as I looked at her, underneath the veil of a mosquito net, I knew there was a heaviness I hadn't seen in her before.

At first, it could be confused with exhaustion.

I sat down and asked her how she is doing.

"I'm sad," she said, as I finally saw the tears rolling down her face.  "I'm alone."

She is alone.

I get it.

I have felt it.

I know that emotion all too well, but I haven't had the double whammy of postpartum depression to go along with it.

Her body is reeling in chemical imbalance as it gets used to no longer being a host.

I touched her leg and said, "I am very, very sorry.  I understand.  I don't visit your house every day because I think you want to have your space."

I told her to come to my house ANY time she feels she needs a friend.  That she can watch me run around like a lunatic as I'm being called one way to the next from workers.

I said I would come by more often to see her if she'd like that.  She said she would.

I told her that we could go for a walk.  She needs to get out of the house.  Being in a house alone just makes it worse, you need fresh air and change of scenery.

I asked her if she likes to exercise.  She does, so in 3 months, when her body is healed from the invasive surgery of giving birth without going through the natural canal, we could do some yoga.

I told her how it helps my brain, my heart and that exercise is good for depression.

In my limited Spanish, I did my very best to explain that I have depression, so when she needs to talk or cry, it's not hard for me to see, because I understand.

Papi came after a while to see if everything was OK.

I had been there for quite some time consoling her, consoling the Little Angel from gas, and consoling the little sister who was being berated by Our Favourite every minute or so.

Papi was worried that something was terribly wrong.  He showed up with pistol in hand.  Well, in underwear.

Yes.  Something is wrong, but not gun worthy.

Our Fave's Mom needs a friend to help her through postpartum depression right now.

I could use a physical friend too.  I am grateful to my friends who give love virtually, but there's something about a physical hug that makes me stronger.

I asked my angels to help me do everything in my power to be as selfless as possible, in hopes that I could help her through this.

It's hard enough when I'm depressed, but when I see someone else depressed, it's as if the pain goes through me, because I can't handle to see people suffer.

Like Papi is suffering right now.

I know how it feels, and I am dying watching him be in the pain he is experiencing.

Help me to help them both.

i see myself as the gift i am to people, community and nation