Wednesday morning...in pain, coughing, interminably tired,
crying in my husband's arms.
Quoting a song I knew well from my parent's folksy music collection when I was growing up:
"How Do I know my youth is all spent,
My get-up-and-go
has got-up-and-went.
But in spite of it all,
I'm able to grin,
And think of
the places
my get-up has been".
(sung by Pete Seeger, but he is not the author of the words)
The author of that poem intended it to refer to a person
who has had good, long years,
looking fondly back upon them.
I was thinking of it for myself,
feeling sorry for myself.
I'm only 42,
feeling that my get-up-and-go
has got-up-and-went.
It went when I got sick
three and a half years ago.
Then...
My supportive, optimistic husband offered words of comfort,
encouragement.
He assured me that I *will* be better.
I *will* be stronger.
Then he suggested I get back to writing my book.
So, I did.
Wednesday evening.
Yeah, me!
It's rolling, I'm writing the book.
You might hear from me less these days,
these months.
It's all good.
And I still have get-up-and-go, Baruch Hashem.
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