Peace Be With You: Walking

I stagger and fall.
Impaired equilibrium
makes me look tipsy.

Walking aides help me,
cane, rollator, and wheelchair.
I prefer walking.

I may resemble
a bumbling drunken sailor.
At least I can walk.

Thank You to My Readers

Many of you check in frequently. Some have called my poems inspiring, which has taught me a new meaning for the word. I had always thought being inspiring meant making someone feel enthusiastic and confident. Instead, in referring to my poems, you cite my honesty and feel inspired by it. I seem to express truths you welcome hearing and which help you. I am simply honored that my words could do such a thing. You have transformed what originally was a self-directed activity into one which benefits others. How often does one have the opportunity to do that? Truly I am blessed by your presence in my life. This motivates me to keep writing these poems and to keep expressing with honesty my feelings and thoughts. My heartfelt thanks to you for sharing my journey.

How This Blog Got Its Peace Name

The mystery solved
I now know the reason why
this blog got its name.

My dad liked to say,
“The peace of God be with you.”
I had forgotten.

The phrase came to me.
I used it unconsciously.
Then friends let me know.

There is only so much one can say in 51 syllables so I was not able to add the following. My late father’s church did an oral history of his life. As I read the results of the interviews, I was struck by how often people remembered that his favorite expression was “The peace of God be with you.” I had forgotten that and have been wondering why on earth I named my blog as I did. I even thought of changing it more than once. Now I realize I was subsconsciously remembering my father’s expression. So the blog name remains.

How I Get Through This

There are times when I look up and say, how did this happen to me? Asking why usually doesn’t get me anywhere, except depression. My present reality really does not allow me to indulge in such questions. I have to cope instead with adjusting to my currently diminished physical capacity and to the appalling possibility, nay, probability that this can get much, much worse. How do I then maintain my spirit? Who is the Me who remains when so much of what defined me has been stripped away? Can I transmute this reality into something with meaning and value? Sometimes I find little victories that sustain me. Sometimes I find someone like Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl to help me navigate these questions. At other times I feel that I am in a boat without a paddle in a raging sea. Mostly I am a work in progress living an unexpected life where most of the rules I thought applied don’t, and I am left to rely on whatever inner strength, character, and personal faith I can call on to get me through. But sometimes even inner strength, character, and personal faith do not seem like they are enough. This is just tough. Or theater of the absurd.

My Manifesto

The following poem generated the most comments and blog links of any of the poems I have written. My response to all the comments is provided below. I now call it My Manifesto.

Here is a pet peeve.
When people say they are glad
that they got MS.

They are pleased because
it made them better persons.
My blood just curdles.

Are you kidding me?
Was there no better method
to accomplish growth?

Judging by the number of comments, this poem obviously resonated, and I can understand why. I also want to share what triggered my writing it. I had watched a recently diagnosed person stand up in front of an audience and say, “I am glad I got MS. I am a much better person as a result.”

He is not the only MSer I have heard say that. What I have discovered is that those who say such a thing tend to fall into two camps. They are either recently diagnosed and/or they are not suffering from loss of mobility or some other dastardly manifestation of this scourge of a disease.

My position on this? As I said in one of my poems,

I can be grateful
for gifts this challenge gave me
and still hate MS.

I have no doubt that I am a more compassionate, generous, less shallow person now than I was before coming down with MS. Would I still have reached this more enlightened place as a result of normal maturation? I don’t know and can’t ever know. I only have the life I have. But I will NEVER say that I am glad I have MS. On the contrary, as I said in one of my other poems,

Full recovery.
That will be my intention
until my last breath.

Whatever accommodation I achieve with this disease will always be one in which I am, only out of necessity, cohabiting with an enemy. If calling it an enemy is too strong, then I can at least say that MS will never be my friend. I am sure psychologists would have a field day with my position. With my own therapist, we’ve declared a truce in which I say I acknowledge, instead of accept, that I have MS. I will never accept, though, that this is what my life should be like. As I said in another of my poems,

I will not allow
MS to appear normal.
Absolutely not.

And I am glad I still have some fight left in me so I can feel this way. There are enough days when I feel quite defeated by this disease. Then another day comes when a glimmer of light helps me remember the Judy I want to be and not just the MS-Judy, and I go on to fight again. That’s when I can say,

I don’t want to hear
the odds are impossible.
I aim to beat them.

And, knowing that days will come when I will again feel oppressed by the enormous challenge I face, I keep these poems on display so that I can remember who I want to be at my best.

As for finding the peace that is the title of this blog, I can only say that, variable though it might be, I find peace in knowing that I can control my attitude about my life.

Thanks for letting me share my thoughts with you. You make this journey so much easier because of it.

To read all the comments, go to: http://lapazconvos.blogspot.com/2011/01/pet-peeve.html

Peace Be With You

Monday, July 1, 2013

Walking

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