Friday, January 29, 2010

A Thief

Apologies for not finishing my blogs this morning. A call took me to a visit with a friend ending with a visit to another friend who has MS and is bedridden.

Now I find it hard to find the words to express the emptiness I feel every time I leave the room with my lovely friend able to only move a few fingers. She tells me that she knows that my prayers are sustaining her. Yet, a voice inside of me asks why God is allowing such suffering. What finger points the finger and says, “You will suffer.” Such is life, right? Well, it just feels lousy.

Three women met 20+ years ago working on plays in a high school theatre department. Over decorating hats and dressing kids in costumes, we became best friends. Friends, whose lives went separate directions for many years, later would find one another once more. Now two of the friends are able to babysit their grandchildren, enjoy walking in the sun and driving their cars wherever they want to go. Tari cannot lift her granddaughter or wrap her arms around her little body. She cannot tuck her into bed. I’m sad. Where is the sense of it?

Diseases are thieves who rob from the body. The thief is the winner in the end. I can send prayers for Tari and her family. I can hold her hand and kiss her forehead when I leave her room. Her two friends decorate her room for each season, watch movies and eat lunches with her, but we can leave. She has no escape from her mattress prison.

Perhaps the lack of power we feel in this fight against disease reminds us of the strength we have in the love we give one another. Each time I leave Tari’s room, I hold more dearly those in my life, I don’t take for granted my children, my grandchildren. I will smell the fresh air and flowers for her, I will walk on the beach for her, I will appreciate a world she can only remember being part of. I can bring her stories of life and family. I bring to her a bit of the outside. Most of all I can still be her friend.

MS. A thief.

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