January kicked my butt. It was a long month. I limped to the end with aches and pains everywhere, feeling old and feeble. There were many reasons for this--husband working 80 hour weeks, family obligations, increased work load, etc--but I felt it more than usual this time. I felt OLD.
Monday night I dragged my tired, 40 year old butt to book group, grumbling to myself about my exhausting-never-feel-caught-up lot in life. I got a glass of wine and joined a group of women chatting before the book discussion got underway. One of the women had just returned to book group after being out of it for several months, so we had not met before. This particular group has been going for over six years, but I joined about six months ago.
Robin was catching the other members up on the status of her paraplegic husband who had undergone extensive surgery to put rods in his back a month ago. Except both rods had broken. She matter-of-factly explained that they were devastated by this turn of events because the rods were supposed to allow him greater stability. He had even lined up a series of interviews and the family was looking foward to a "normal" life. Now they were back to square one and the broken rods had damaged tissue and caused a massive infection. This woman was kind and warm and quietly noble.
I turned off the little violens and whimpering voices in my head. I am tired. My body is aging. I do feel overwhelmed. And I am so, so grateful.