The Helper Needs Help Poem by Maureen Carey

The helper gives of herself, every day, expecting nothing in return. Day after day, she sees to it that other's needs are met, although her eyes are heavy from lack of sleep.

She fixes up her small corner of the world and makes someone else's day a little brighter. But, who can she turn to? Who will lift her spirits when she's feeling low, like she can't take that extra step? Others praise her for being so strong and useful, but who will love her when she's weak and broken?

She's always been the glue that has held other's hearts together, but what if her own heart needs mending? Who will be the glue for her then and piece together what has been broken?

Many a night, her hands have been a source of comfort to a feverish forehead or held a lollipop for a distressed child. Who will lovingly hold her hands now and tell her that each callous, each rough spot is beautiful because of the love that put them there?

The helper needs help.

Her friends have all scattered like dry leaves. She calls out to them, but they're nowhere to be found like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Fear keeps them from reaching out to her because it pains them to see such a mighty pillar humbled. They turn their backs to her cries; her anxious pleas in the middle of the night fall on deaf ears.

Who will help to ease her burdens and shoulder her cross like Simon of Cyrene? Is there anyone who will stay the course with her and walk the extra mile?

The helper needs help.

Her hands can't give to others just now, for they are trembling too much from grief.