Forever blowing bubbles

If I were a therapist, every new client of mine would leave my office with a bottle of bubble blowing solution. Few things in life are as simple and satisfying as creating shimmery, iridescent, delicate globes out of soap and breath.
For my birthday last month I received two giant bottles of bubbles, one from each of my daughters. I keep them on a shelf by the back door so that when I am so inclined, which is often, I can step outside and blow me some bubbles. My signature bubbles are the giant, oval ones, the ones so heavy that they can barely stay afloat. I love to watch them bob lazily to earth, exploding in a gooey splash on the sidewalk. When I release a riotous cloud of smaller bubbles I watch them sail toward the trees and imagine them converging in a cloud around the head of an unsuspecting neighbor: "What the ...?"
Today was a good day for bubbles. I needed the spirit lift they provided. Four of the people I love most in this world are struggling under unreasonably heavy burdens, and I HATE it. I want to rush to the rescue, make everything all better. Partly because I love them and partly, selfishly, because I hate to see people I love hurting; it makes me hurt.
A hard but valuable lesson I learned as the wife of a practicing alcoholic is that you cannot make someone want to be well. And if you try to, you will suffer for your efforts. I also learned I must respect people enough to let them find their own way out of a tough situation. My "wisdom" isn't always needed, or wanted. I've also learned that even if someone I love is pain, it's ok for me to not be. I can laugh, read a book, take a nap. Not taking care of me doesn't fix a thing, and can become a miserable form of self-indulgence.
Not every one of those lessons applies to my relationships with each of the people I mentioned. But I need to keep them front and center in my mind when I'm tempted to wallow in secondhand unhappiness.
I can love them, listen to them, pray for them, care for them, do what I can to lighten their moods. But I can't carry their burdens or solve their problems. It took me 20 years to learn that it's all right for me to be all right when life isn't perfect for everyone I care about. It's ok to be grateful for my own turmoil free (today) life. It's ok to step outside and blow some bubbles.