I’d say those were worst-case scenarios. But then, I’ve had a few of those in my life. Enough to know that they happen.
I still choose to get up each day and smile fiercely at the sun. Sure, maybe sometimes that smile looks more like a grimace of pain. Yet despite trisomy 18, despite grief of unimaginable magnitude, despite leukemia, despite Alzheimers, dementia, and mental illness, I choose to dig in my garden, to read books, to write, to cherish my children, the living and the dead, to kiss my husband, and to keep striving towards … whatever it is we strive towards—maybe just being a better person in the world. Maybe just spreading compassion and love.
My body is strong and capable. Treating it poorly is not the answer to my sorrows. In fact, it almost seems like an insult to those who yearn to use their bodies but cannot.
Is everyone feeling like this?