Illness comes at a cost, yet even as the losses add up, there are gains.
With the onset of summer, I recall leisurely hours spent golfing with my husband, or friends – a pastime we so loved. My clubs now take up residence elsewhere, these muscles unfit for the exertion required.
My tennis racquet sits dormant too – a remnant of a passion now redundant.
I miss gatherings at a pool side bar, or a downtown patio – the sound of laughter mingling with the crisp, dry burn of white wine. My system no longer tolerates alcohol, and outings have changed with priorities.
I am no longer the woman, whom my husband called Lucille Ball, whose sunny demeanour and fiery presence guaranteed lively repartee. The setbacks have softened my edges, this lingering condition evoking a vulnerability that avoids noise, scents, and the overstimulation of crowds.
Where once ambition drove me, and career set precedence for aspirations, I now live with solitude, find solace in the quiet, have donned a new lens which invites discovery.
Loss has flooded with all the force of a tidal wave, and even as I swim against the pull of despair, I am labouring to redefine purpose, self.
I confess that there has been sorrow. I can attest to darkness. And, yet, wrapped in all that discord there have been blessings: awakenings. I have discovered delight in developing a photographic eye, and the infinite pleasure of daring to express in colour.
(This post is inspired by Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: Confession. Thanks to Laura for hosting. All photos are from personal collection. The images of me are from healthier days, when apparently I loved kiwi green. The watercolour is a close up of a saguaro, if it was orange.)