I sit here on a hot September afternoon having slept late with no regret. I haven’t gotten dressed yet and there is a feeling of peace. I am doing exercises for my neuropathy and will do them off and on throughout the day. It feels good to be proactive about it because the pain now drives my life. I am learning to honor the limits it imposes on me. Rob went to a concert and has not gotten up yet.

There is nothing easy about becoming conscious. Just ask Jesus. I think of Rob when he was about four building a makeshift cross and walking it across our backyard. He didn’t know I saw him; I was looking out the window. Suffice it to say that was a forecast of what his life would be like.

I rarely cry anymore. I count my blessings and walk on. The hardest years are behind me and they have left scars galore. But they have also made me strong in ways the average person will never know. I have no support group. At some point this just happens. You don’t look around and see a group that has your back. You are alone going back to the Alone. The world cannot understand this. The world is not at home much anymore. It is too busy marching in protests that will change nothing. Jesus knew how it would go but He kept the faith anyway. He saw through the ego’s need to protest.

So each day is mine to remember who I am in spite of who I seem to be. I seem to be growing older and coming up against my physical limits. I seem to be alone. I seem to be without a net. But that is only part of the story. The rest of the story is written in red ink.

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Vicki Woodyard