(This photo was actually taken at a museum where we rented a wheelchair. It’ll be so nice to have one that I can keep.)
Yesterday, we finally broke down and bought me a wheelchair. It’s not that I need one all the time, but I can’t walk long distances—and this has definitely hampered things I can do.
Anyway, we got the wheelchair and actually brought the kids to the fair in Blackfoot.
Trey and one of his best friends palled around and checked out the unique fair foods and booths. (They had such a blast.) And later as I sat in my wheelchair and watched Indy and Mike ride various roller coasters, I had an epiphany. Dirt swirled around me. Cowboys and women in beautiful dresses walked past with their families, and I didn’t even care that I could’ve seemed somewhat invisible down below the bustle and excitement. Yes, life is different, but it’s more than enough—and it’s never looked this clear despite all of the hard things I’ve experienced with sickness and pain. Sure I can’t do everything that I could before, but that’s life; it’s constantly changing and evolving. The best we can do is find good in the chaos. And I feel fortunate to have learned so much well before my time.
Last night, when we got home I wasn’t nearly as tired as I normally am, and Mike’s biceps looked amazing from pushing me all day (I can just imagine his facial expression when he reads this lol!). I had enough energy to look through the amazing tattoos Ruby did at work so far this month, and I even got to visit with Sky about her day.
I’ve realized my joy isn’t always derived from being the active participant who’s front and center. Instead, I’m content with seeing the happiness around me—still being able to watch my family enjoy our world. When it comes down to it, I would give nearly anything to see them happy—to spend one more day with them, to see their smiles always etched into my mind...
I know I’m lucky to be here. So many of my sweet friends at the cancer center have already passed away since I met them in 2020. I know it must’ve been their time, but they fought so hard to stay…. They were positive and strong. They WANTED to live, but cancer is a merciless, incompetent judge—and it doesn’t care how much someone deserves to keep on breathing. Now when I hear people taking their health or even their lives for granted, well…it almost seems unfair to the people who fought so hard to stay and still died young.
I wish it wouldn’t take hindsight to see things this way.
Walking short distances or riding in a wheelchair for the long bouts, everything sure does look different from here. I guess it’s all about perspective.