Easter is here already. And almost now gone. Last year at this time, I had just had a rather large surgery and was in the process of recovering. Now, I am sick again and trying to recover again. More than anything, my mind is filled by a brume that has dissipated for this moment, which is why I am trying to write at the moment.

I think my greatest fear is contained in a question my father asked me when talking to him about a doctor’s visit. He asked me, “What if this is the best it gets?” Dang. I don’t swear anymore but that gets me close. What if how I feel now is the best it gets, and my moments of cognitive function and clarity are contained in one day of each month? It is terrifying. One of my greatest fears come to the forefront really. How can I ever be a writer under such circumstances? Forget even the professional side of the matter, how can I be me?

So much of who I am is intellectual, though by no means all of me nor the majority of me, but a significant portion nonetheless. I thrive on thought and philosophy and dreaming. The me that I alone know, that I keep from others, is becoming unrecognizable at times as the strands I have woven together of my fate become threadbare and close to fraying.

Yet, my past is not something I cling to either as I was reminded earlier this week. Some former friends are having a get-together after about a decade of not seeing me, and invited me. I don’t suppose I will ever quite understand such foolish sentiments so I turned them down. At least this time, I get to choose to be alone. Not that that is true as I now have real friends who have been there for me when I needed them, who visited me in the hospital, who pray for me and love me and count me as family. Funny, and horribly sad, because these former friends were all church friends.

It is best not to cast one’s shadow by yesterday’s sun though. My shadow comes from the light I have today, and I have no desire to return to what pittance of luminance I had before. Perhaps calling it artificial light would have been more accurate.

Ahh, but all of this is has turned it a long rant. Sorry about that. I guess I am not sure what I even want to write. I just wanted to write something, anything.

Well, in any case, Easter has reminded me once more of the hope that I hold aside from all the struggles of life. The hope that even as Christ has risen, I too shall rise. God has given me another year, and to that end, there must be a reason I live. And if He has let me live, then I must believe that I will once more find the abundant life and health and joy that He promises. Hopefully, this is the beginning of my convalescence and I will find my mind stoked to write once more. Until next time, hope you had a lovely Easter.


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