Here Come the Chains

I am not against helping my parents financially -- like giving them a set amount of money for letting me live here for the last six months, helping pay for car maintenance since I have been and will be driving it, and starting to support myself (lunches, outings, bills, and extras) -- but I fear that soon it will be anticipated that I do more than that.

How am I supposed to get ahead in my own life, start building some capital --some nestegg fluff-- if I am paying their bills and supporting them?

Why do I feel so bad for not being a "good daughter" and just happily accepting the prospect of ensuring my parents' rest-of-their-lives?

I keep hearing my friend, Meg, say in my head, "Because it's not your job."

...but what would you do if your parents had been completely supporting you for six months, and then they were suddenly faced with the very real prospect of poverty?

My family has never --by any means-- been rich. We have known hunger; we have known tough times; we have known government assistance.
Until 1999, we were doing pretty well, though. My mother had a position at a globally-renowned company and we were cruising quite comfortably along in the medial echelons of the middle class. If my grades were good for the school year, I was rewarded with a trip to the Denver amusement park of my choosing. We went camping once a summer. I had new clothes on my first day of school. Birthdays and Christmases were not overlooked, but neither were they lavish. Yes, my parents purchased my first car for me -- but it only cost $400.
Then mom suddenly found herself without work for the first time in 23 years. We struggled, but we made it. She jumped around from being a gas station attendant to serving food at a nursing home. For a while, she was a personal care provider at an assisted living facility: helping residents get dressed or bathe, folding laundry for residents, and ensuring that residents took their proper medications on time.
In 2003, mom got a job as a school custodian. At least she enjoyed it, because she always has liked making dirty things clean again. Six and a half years later, layoffs came around and she found herself, again, without work. Now we entering her second year as a lunch lady. (The nutrition department of the school district is subcontracted; maybe that's why the custodial budget "had" to be cut so badly?) Her position is --at most-- 20 hours a week and does not come with benefits. The pay is also substantially less than what it was as a custodian; it is, in fact, even less than I was making at my retail position two years ago!
Dad, by the way, is disabled and cannot work.
We experienced a slight, bittersweet windfall after my grandmother's passing in 2008; the inheritance my father received has helped the household quite a few times when mom's income just wouldn't cover it, most especially in the last two years. In fact, if it weren't for my dad's ability to cover payments, the car I will be depending on for transport to and from work would have been surrendered or repossessed years ago.
The money is soon to be gone: the last of it has been transferred to his checking account.
School starts again on Thursday, so at least mom will have some income coming in.

...but that doesn't help.

I am going to be employed in a full-time position, earning more money than my mom (again). How dare I have lofty dreams and ambitions when my parents are struggling.

They have not asked for help. I do not know if they will come outright and ask for it, either.
...but what kind of kid would I be if I left them in the dirt and dust when I have it within my ability to keep them from falling in the first place?

And what if they do ask for it? How could I tell them no? They, who have supported me even when they have had little to give?

On one hand, I am so looking forward to being able to spread my wings again and once more live my own life; you saw how the glittering possibilities danced before my eyes in the previous post. But, then, I see the other hand and things get more complicated.

I know that my parents want me to go out and start a life. I know they do. Kids are supposed to do that, right? Go out and find their own way; leave the proverbial nest.

My family has never been like that. Sure, the desire is there: the kids want to leave, and the parents want them to, but where do the lofty ideas of duty and responsibility come into play in that situation? And when do those virtues shift from sense of family to sense of self? Would I really be so untrue to myself if I did not help my family? Would I not be irresponsible to myself if I refused them aid? When the root cries to the leaf for water, does the leaf not answer? (When the leaf senses the root needs water, does it not provide unbidden?)