Carol Saylor – Pinterest
Getting older is quite a mixed bag.
In the past I cringed when celebrating another birthday. It depressed me that I still weighed much more than I wanted to, but couldn’t seem to find the motivation to stuff less into my mouth, pay closer attention to what I was eating, or get off my duff to do some honest exercise. My main focus was escape.
I hurt. I fixated on what was hurting and tried to find quick fixes that would make me feel better, the latest nostrums proving you would feel younger, sexier, have more energy, would lose that stubborn fat, would make me look like Julia Roberts..😃.
There were still things I loved, of course. I lived in a nice house, could escape into my art room and try to learn another technique or skill. Right before we moved, I had taken up wood burning. It was loads of fun, and I could spend hours figuring out what I wanted to create and then lose myself in the process. It was especially gratifying when someone liked what I had listed in my Etsy shop enough to want to give it a home.
I escaped into Nora Roberts books – her regular romance books plus the JD Robb collection. She would grab my interest and take me away from my problems, allowing me some peace.
I worked out in the yard. I tended my flowers, weeded my square foot veggie garden, edged, weed-whacked, trying to tame the small area around the house we tried to keep civilized.
My husband and I were getting older, though, and couldn’t really take care of the house and yard the way we wanted to. It was simply too much and we hadn’t admitted it yet. And then we both got sick at the same time. We were SO ill that we could barely drive to the clinic. We both had Flu A. My husband also had pneumonia. I also had bronchitis and low blood oxygen for which the doctor insisted I go to the ER. My friend Carla drove me, leaving my husband to fend for himself the best way he could.
I was in the hospital a week. I died twice on February 11th. My heart simply stopped. I had a temporary pacemaker installed, and then a permanent one. We were still too sick to take care of each other, so I wrote our son Brian, who lived in Thailand, and asked him to come home.
We ended up selling everything we owned and flying to Thailand to live near Brian. Two weeks after we got here, my husband had a stroke and fell in the shower. He underwent two surgeries, stayed in the hospital for a month, and is now living in a nursing home.
Dying, moving to Thailand, trying to help my husband, settling a new living space in a country where I don’t speak the language, am trying to set up finances, etc., makes one rethink.
I have been given a second chance. I have resolved to finally finish getting the extra lard off, exercise every day, eat mindfully, and embrace all that is wonderful around me.
My main feeling these days is gratitude. I am trying to absorb the customs of the people of this beautiful country and show in every way I am able how HAPPY I am to be alive. I am trying to make each day count, trying to show my husband how much I still love him, even though his future is very uncertain. I am trying to do all I can not to be a burden on our son, who has taken everything onto his shoulders, trying to do all he can to make the rest of our lives the best that they can be.
I am feeling so lucky to have such a caring son, a person to share with, do things with, listen to, and trying to make him laugh at least once a day.
Second chances come rarely. I’m trying to use mine wisely.
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