I haven’t always been the best to myself. Sometimes I drink too much whiskey and coffee is a bigger part of my daily routine than working out. My mom told me about a young man at her church who had a heart attack at 25, and my childhood friend who had too much drink and lost control of his car, and when the prescriptions didn’t go together and C didn’t wake up. I think about these things a lot.
I think about the families, the friends, the spouses, the sons and daughters and the moments that can’t happen ever again. I suppose it’s morbid from some perspectives, but I’m more certain that it’s formidable…because it has allowed me to recognize that I’m not ready to go yet.
You see, I love. I love and I hurt and I hope and I move. There’s no disease or pain that is haunting me, and I am deeply thankful for that, so thankful that I make it a point to remember it every day…because I’m certain that I’m just not ready to go.
I get to have these moments that remind me to seek inspiration when I am tired, to give when I have means, to hope when it seems futile. We are part of a story where superheroes wear hearing aids and the darkest hearts live second chances. You see, I’m just not ready to let go of that yet.
I want to see redemption, to live the life that proves when you don’t give up, when you do your best, the rest will come. There’s just too much I still want to do here, so I hope I don’t get that cue, cause I don’t think I’ll never be ready to go.