Her hands and voice were shaking uncontrollably because she felt helpless. She knows that it’s going to just get tougher. The strength that he used to have has been rapidly decreasing, and will not return. It’s been 6 months since the diagnosis and the picture is bleak, dark… horrible. “Don’t get old” he told me as we made our way into the living room. The corner of the comfy couch was our destination. As he plopped into that corner, there were many short gasping breathes before it became semi-normal again. It’s certainly not like it used to be… even three short months ago. I found the remote, turned on TV, and asked if he wanted or needed anything else at the moment. There was really nothing else I could do. He apologized once more, but my only response was ‘we all fall down once in a while, no big deal’.
I hadn’t been running frequently because I hurt my ankle last week. I figured if I ran on it, I’d hurt it some more and that would prevent me from running better in the near future. That’s good thinking, right? But what if the way I run today is the best I will ever run from this point on? I hope that’s not the case, but who knows. When that day eventually comes, will I know that was my last best day?
