Mobility

Never miss your water til the well runs dry, right?  I am desperately in love with mobility today because I lost a bit of it yesterday, and despite my pleas, it is not coming back to me fast enough.  I either threw out my lower back or I have that thing they call sciatica; no matter what you name it, there is pain there when I move, and not being able to move freely is a real problem for me.  Because, you know, I can't sit still.

And it's not even like I did anything strenuous to deserve this repercussion.  I simply shoveled a mere 20 feet of snow/ice two feet wide in order to clear a path from my front steps to my driveway.  Goodness, I've shoveled my entire driveway in the past and walked away intact.  And that's the thing with injuries of this sort:  you never know when they will knock you down.

So today, I could not fill the bird feeder, continue my cleaning frenzy, climb the stairs, sweep the snow off my Jeep, sit comfortably, or stand for long periods of time.  I even found it hard to coax a stinkbug onto a piece of paper and then toss her out into a snowbank.  Yes, you read that right.  Thirty-six stinkbugs later, I am no longer in love with them.

But I have to admit, I am humbled by this experience.  Because I have taken my mobility for granted.  I have a young cousin, 31 years old now, and he has been paralyzed and in a wheelchair since he was fifteen.  Nonetheless, he is a history teacher and a basketball coach.  He has no idea how much I admire him, because telling him would draw attention to his limitations, and that is not what I ever want to do.  I think about him more than he would ever imagine.  I guess it's the old "There but for fortune go I."

So today, I am in love with the freedom of movement.  And I am begging it to come back to me.  I am a desperate lover, and I am ready to promise anything to have this love returned.  Whattaya say, Mobility?  Can you give me another chance?  Please?