Well, my friend Ted is going into a Medicaid nursing home. I’m so sad and depressed about it I could
cry. The poor guy has been to hell and
back with his NF. He’s dying. I pray for him to be over and done with this,
because that is what he wants. Obviously, he never thought he’d live to see
this day.
I could list everything wrong with me (and often do) but it
pales in comparison (something I preach against doing…comparing) to what he has
endured. This is when I really start
asking the tough questions. Why would
someone as sweet, thoughtful and loving as this man be forced to bear this
awful disorder? Or as he says, ghastly.
Who would we be without our challenges? Do those challenges make us who we are? Does the way we endure them matter to anyone
except ourselves as those who love us?
By that I mean, does it count?
How we endure? Does it matter to
our fractured souls? And if there is “someplace
else” that we go once we die, does how we handle those challenges count toward
whatever might happen next? I tire of asking that question, but with all the
time on my hands, it comes up a lot.
I seem to keep getting “opportunities” to improve on how I
handle things. On the way to the dentist
the other day, to have my permanent crown put on (number four in the past six
months), ANOTHER crown fell out. Part of
me wanted to scream, another part laughed at the insanity of it happening on the way to the dentist. Literally. This one can’t be fixed, so I’m having it
yanked and need to see an oral surgeon because my dentist is afraid she would damage
the crown next to it. IT NEVER ENDS.
My point being, there are always opportunities to do it
better. Handle it better. With grace, dignity and chocolate.
Please pray for my friend.
"Hello in There" by John Prine
this song isn't just for the elderly
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