Mortality

Most nights I wish Hubby was at my side instead of at work.

Sometimes I am grateful he is not. He wouldn't like to see the tears that fall, tears I can't stop, tears that are not a lack of faith but of the realization of mortality.

There are some nights since April 11 that I lay awake, tracing my fingers along the seventeen centimeter scar on my chest, or the ones on my leg or feeling the bruise from yet another blood test. Just when I think all is well, it isn't.

Another birthday is creeping up on me--a big one, a landmark one. This year I am focused not on the numbers, but on the fact that I am around to celebrate it at all.  

I touch the scar again. It is fading some, but I can still feel it. When I do, I remember the symptoms I didn't recognize (or chose not to); the pain of that day, the days when I was asked how I was feeling and I chose to answer, "Fine", (rather than go into an explanation of the utter frustration and weakness) haunt my memory..

There are days when I just can't cope with the reality that this repaired heart might last fifteen years, or two. The diabetes could take my life. The meds I take are playing havoc with my enzymes. I try to explain that it is not my faith that suffers. When you lecture me about that, it doesn't help.

I am human. Sometimes it is the mortal side of me in charge.

There is so much living to be done. This birthday should be nothing more than a number--but it is not. It is a day worthy of celebration.

Most days I think I might still have many years ahead. When I choose a necklace that will hide the scar or find myself wearing stockings on a ninety degree day to minimize the ones on my legs (or wearing jeans), that's when I am forced to acknowledge the limited future I see. Most days  I see unlimited sunshine. Most days.

Every single day (make that every hour) has become precious. I will spend my time living and doing exactly what I want to do. I will save the tears for when I am alone, let it all out, and put on the brighter face in the morning.

I know that I am not alone. Even you, whether you have faith or do not believe in anything at all, have these moments. I have a scar as a memento. Maybe you do, too, or you have the pharmaceutical cornucopia on your dressing table or whatever it is that reminds you of that one moment you would never choose to remember.

I wasn't at all certain that this was worth sharing....then I remembered the promise I made when I decided to write my blog. Touch one life, one time. Let someone else know that they are not alone, be it in joy or frustration. The way we feel about something or someone or about ourselves is reality.

Mortality is reality, too.