She’s not who she once was. She used to be able to move mountains with the power of her will alone! Now she’d left with not enough power to even move a dictionary off the shelf. She hates it.
She hates the fact that she’s weak and fragile. She hates it so much that she screams. Its a loud barbaric screech that wells up from deep within her. It rips through her lungs past her lips, escaping into the world. She demands that the pain she feels leave her forever, that it never has the gaul to show itself to her again!
She knows that will not be the case, however. She knows, deep with in the heart of her being that she will see and feel the pain again. Pain from her body failing her, pain from her spine collapsing in on itself, pain from her hips and knees. Pain in her heart, heavy with the knowledge of how little she can do anymore. Pain from her inability's. So much pain in so many guises. She’s not sure which of them hurts her more.
If there was a way to do so, she’d trade in her old, weak, pathetic body for a new one. A modest one, but a body that worked and let her do all the things she wants to do. she wants to play in her garden all day again, she wants to shift the furniture around. She wants to be able to walk around the block without having to take a break. She wants to go shopping with out having to be pushed in a wheel chair!
Of all the things she’s lost over the years, her freedom is what she misses the most. The freedom to just leave the house and take a stroll, to shop with her daughter, to go for a hike with her husband. She hates it. I know she does.
I watch her in pain and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I watch her try to keep up the strong face she always has, but I also it crack. She’s so strong that this seems so impossible for her. It seems so horribly unfair that she has been dealt this hand. So terrible that she has to be locked within her own body.
If she doesn’t hate the circumstances, then I certainly do.