It's something I have to do. Only a few Writers have ever managed to put It down and walk away while still among the living. I ain't one, yet anyway. Either a Writer or one capable of putting It down.
I ain't looking for sympathy (albeit it is appreciated), empathy (likewise) or other expressions (and thank you if you do). I'm just putting down on electronic paper a thought, a blog, a column, a missive that's been running through my
It changes people. The pancreatic cancer that eventually killed my Dad changed him and not for the better. I'm watching pain change my Mom. Dad's way is not her way. Not saying Mom is changing for the better, but she is changing. How, you ask? I don't feel the need to explain that here. Dad changed. She's changing.
Some of us have also learned that certain pains are stimulating. We chase that sensation.
Pain, for whatever reason.
Yesterday, I ordered a half plastic pipe with ropes attached to help me put on socks. I cannot put on socks when I get up in the morning. Spend a
As the day goes on and I move, the pain lessens. I can move more freely. I can put on my own socks. Arthritis is insidious that way. It hurts to move, but moving makes the pain less.
I have back
As I just said I ain't complaining (and yet I am too). I am not complaining because each twinge, each ache, each pop in the joint is a trophy.
I have not lost my mind
I say these are trophies. Some are the much-maligned participation trophies. Some are winner, championship trophies.
Regardless, each pain is a signal honor. It says I was there, did that and came out the other side. It that respect it is a participation trophy.
In another way, it is a trophy showing actual accomplishment. I was there. I did things. I was out and moving. I got up and invested myself.
These pains I have, they are reminders of the things I did. I did things others may dream of. I did things other people cringe to think about. I did things that hurt
Lots and lots more. Some of which I'm trying to get into a book. Maybe I'll finish it.
In short, I experienced.
These pains I carry, they are reminders that I got up and lived. I went out and tested myself. Pain is a reminder that I lived and am still alive.
I look at other people my age and older and I envy them when they do not have
Then, I wonder if they lived. Did they get out of their comfort zone and step into a world that promises and delivers a life that can't be described in words? Will they