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!
