You Know It's Been Too Long When.

I've been considering life of late.

I recently attended a memorial service for a friend's brother.  The service was held in a cozy meeting room of a nursing home where he worked as a recreational director for almost a quarter century.  Gathered around me were many residents of the assisted living home in various states of dis-ability, in wheelchairs, heads bent.  The fellow whose life we had come to celebrate lived almost 5 decades of his life in a wheelchair after a car accident at the age of 18 rendered him a quadriplegic. 

One of those speaking at the service said that his reply to the injury was, "I can do the same things I did before, just differently." He did not live dis-abled.  He advocated for the dis-abled to be accommodated to live independently.  He lived life fully and with a young heart.

I looked at my own arms and legs - still temporarily able-bodied - and sat wondering what I could be doing differently, for whom, where, and how.  You know it's been too long when a memorial service wakes you up to join the living.

Signs of life are all around me.  My very breath reminds me I am alive. As my dear story-friend Michelle says, "We are not here for a long time; but for a good time."  What are you going to do with that one wild precious life?

Here is a a poem I want to share with you.  All I know about the author is that she suffered some trauma that caused her traumatic brain injury.  And still she lives - looking to tomorrow:

YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW

Yesterday
I was a Brownie, a dancer, a baseball player.
I valued long walks, good friends, and horses.
I appreciated fine woodwork, the beach, and
my surroundings.
I enjoyed going to carnivals, staying out until 11,
then sneaking back into my house.
I hoped to grown old.

Today
I am disabled, more thoughtful,
and am a great writer.
I value handsome men, the past,
and all of the kitties I have owned.
I appreciate the fresh air coming through the door,
not being encumbered by anyone at the moment,
and all the vacations I have taken over the years.
I enjoy coffee, he theater, and cleaning fish tanks.
I hope to learn to drive, change oil,
and out gas in the car.

Tomorrow
I will be a good looking astronaut, an animal keeper,
a writer, and a woman whose body temperature
has gone up five degrees.
I will keep a special eye to not lose my body,
and I want to get closer to Jesus.
I want to join an astronaut school,
and go exploring up to the heavens.
I hope the cities will turn into George Jetson cities,
but I hope the pasture lands and
the beaches will be left as they are.
And I hope I will go out to dinner tonight.
And I really do want to live in Japan.

Lise Schurig