At times over the past few years I’ve indulged in a lot of self-pity. All my old friends are sick or dying, I can’t travel, etc., etc. Last year was especially bad, as my arthritis became extremely painful, and a fall led to a fractured pelvis and related problems. I spent six weeks in a dreadful rehab facility for bed rest and physical therapy, often too miserable even to read. I complained a lot, and actually looked forward to dying. I’m eighty-five now; it can’t be too much longer.
Then, slowly, I got better. The bed rest and physical therapy were successful, and at last I returned to my comfortable book-lined apartment. Meals here are always adequate and sometimes very good. I can walk with a walker, visit with friends, read, and watch good television programs and movies.
Yes, I still have bad days, as any aging person does. I know all too well that at any time, an accident or other event can instantly plunge me into darkness again. But most of the time I can feel grateful for the life I have now, for that moment of happiness. Sometimes I unexpectedly catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and I’m smiling. How lucky I am!