I’ve been blogging off & on for years, have more recently opened up about my health (or lack thereof ~_^) & feel incomplete when my world isn’t as digital as it is physical yet I stopped updating this blog nearly three years ago. There were a number of practical reasons from repeated moving thus intermittent internet to a steady decrease in that so-called health of mine, yet losing my Grandma three years ago seems to be the real culprit. She taught me, amidst many other marvelous wonders & wisdom like “the dread is worse than the doing,” that people have more than one soulmate; we were each lucky enough to have married ours while also having another in each other — our husbands’ souls being complementary whereas our own mirrored the other’s. I’ll always miss her but, as Dan Fogelberg might say, “I am her living legacy.”
Speaking of legacies, I’ve been challenged by WEGO Health to consider what my own might be. April is Health Activist Writer’s Month at WEGO — a month dedicated to the art of writing… about health — & they’re hosting a Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge (#HAWMC) with a writing prompt for each day of the month. If not only I but my health were memorialized, there would be purple & prose & poetry & perspectives that would seem more than just passe but downright preposterous. “What wit,” they would say, “what wisdom — no doubt thanx to these loved ones she’s commemorated — but wait; what’s this? Why would anyone have to go without healthcare?! How did she stay so positive despite so very much pain??”
As those who open my Health Time Capsule in 100 years get caught up in a collection of my favorite things, from a coffee press to the moonstones from my favorite beach, they find themselves longing for such simple pleasures as a picture forms of someone who makes the most of each moment. Then, reading thru my blogs & books, they discover that the simplicity of my life was a joy but not a choice. The more keepsakes, writings & pictures those future kindred spirits peruse; the more they understand the choice I did make, to enjoy. Each new item expressing my limitations either includes or is closely followed by an expression of appreciation for what couldn’t be limited. In the end, it will be my trusty sidekick, Chester C. Cane, that exemplifies my seemingly contradictory existence for the very need of a cane not only pronounces me disabled but announces my disability for all to see — making my illness less invisible. There again, a potential negative proves to be positive. Just as a cane has its own limitations but helps me better cope with mine, my legacy may be shaped by all I can’t do but will be filled with all the more appreciation for what I can.