Death, Taxes, and a Handicap Placard

April 29, 2019  If there was a harder way, I would find it. Stairs trumped elevators; walking replaced driving; and hills won over flats. It is a new era. I’m now scouting an easier path, a better parking spot, or just a chair with sturdy arms. Sure, it is a surrender but the terms are fair. I think of Lee’s soldiers after Appomattox. Allowed to keep rifles, horses, and mules they shuffle south through clouds of disappointment. Their war wasn’t winnable in the same way my disease is not curable. Still, the battle was fiercely waged, defeat is acknowledged, and you head home. Reality is forever altered but every day still offers a choice.

Accepting reality is the foundation of possibilities. The list of “can’t do” becomes a speck in the rear-view mirror. There is no new beginning without a measure of letting go. The new list of “wanna do”, comes with a caveat. I need to accept the proffered hand, board the plane early, hang the handicap placard, and just grin when I take a tumble. A rich world lurks behind these small allowances. I can’t control life’s inevitabilities but can fill this complicated continuum with things that matter.

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