Thursday, March 17, 2016

The Irish, The Scots And The Wish

                                PHOTOS/EDITS BY RUTH RADER

I chatted with a woman over the phone this morning. I haven't met her yet. She said that
she wants to help me acquire permanent housing...once and for all...amen. I heard the
determination in her voice...through her device...and as it swirled through the frosty
morning air...to my cell phone...and into my ear.



Yes, I heard her words. But I wonder if they are worth believing. I've listened to so many
promises before. Over and over and over. I know my own body and what is going
wrong with it now. And I can't stop it, anymore.

As the world around me is unfurling, blooming and waking up...my physical existence
is slowly shutting down. There is nothing that I can do about it.



I feel like a tree that is dropping Autumn leaves in the middle of this Springtime rebirth.
I take the pills and walk as far as I can with my walker-wheeler. But I can't keep up with
everyone else, anymore. Fatigue is my old friend and exhaustion is my new enemy.




Some people claim that they know what is best for me. But after 60 years, no one knows
my body better than I do.

I hope that this new Season has one more secret left for me. I pray that I am finally going
to go home.


And while the Mull of Kintyre is in Scotland, it is very close to the Irish border and
one of the places that I have always wanted to visit. I feel a definite kinship with
this song and I would love to spend some special time on that seashore before I pass
on.


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