Missing Something

Today for most of the day I have sat on my rump.

I am strictly trying to ease the pain of my knee.

During this entire day while sitting on the couch, I have tried to put together a photo slide show of our vacation, for my mother to play on her television.

She is the one that made this vacation to OBX happen.

My mom is legally blind and has been relatively immobile for the past few years due to a bunch of things. Anyhow, the computer screen is too small for her to discern photos, thus the DVD idea.

I have tried various programs for the past five hours in attempt to make a decent slide show of what is now one of the most amazing experiences of my 49 years.

I was there for a brief week, and I sorely, deeply, achingly want to be there again. As I go through the pictures, I bitter sweetly remember the way I was captured by the ocean, drawn in by the total experience of the outer banks. The simplicity brought peace to me.

I am struggling through depression again. Things are hard. I believe that it is due to my knee injury, and the pain it is brings me continually. I feel useless. I am reacting to people and circumstances poorly. My temper is short. I am having a pity party, and I know it. (as tears are rolling down my checks).

I just want this pain to go away. I want to be back on the sand. I want to hear nothing but sea gulls and the waves. I want to be able to walk again, freely, without thought.

I want you to know that my mother is amazing.

She was a widow in her late thirties.

She raised 3 of us single handed, without assistance. She worked to take care of us.

She has had so many obstacles in her life. Her most recent obstacles have been her knees. She had been nearly crippled with pain for many years. Finally about 18 months ago, she had two separate knee replacements. They both went well.

On her first outing, pain-free, in over a decade, she came home joyously and triumphant. Minutes later, alone in the house, she fell. She shattered her femur, and for eight months, and three surgeries, she remained in a wheelchair.

Her orthopedic surgeon suggested she meet with an oncologist (she does not have cancer) who has done experimental femur transplants. He told her he felt he could do this surgery on her, and today, slowly, carefully, she again walks with a walker.

I am writing this because through all this, my mother never pouted. My mother never had a pity party for herself. My mother never focused on herself and her pain or losses.

My mother always has such a positive attitude.

For this, she amazes me.

I wish I were more like her.