A price. For the pleasure of living.

Someone with the pseudonym tbad posted yesterday. On the Alzheimer message boards. Sounds like a woman. But can’t be sure. Cares for an 85-year-old mom. Watching. Watching. Watching. The steady decline. Indeed, that takes a toll on care-givers. Words she uses. To describe her feelings. They include:  Heartbreaking. Stressful. Anger. Fear. Frustration. Anxiety.  So here’s my advice.

I’d start. By asking myself. Why am I stressed? And do I need to be so stressed? I’d try to put life in perspective. In positive ways. First, that maybe mom has been blessed. To have lived to 85, and counting. Albeit, recent years haven’t been as good mentally as the first 80. But there are trade-offs in life. Perils come with old age. But maybe that’s better than dying young or in middle age. Personally, I’d accept that price. I’m 78, and counting. My father died at age 38. Mother lived ‘til 88. But had to endure some ravages of old age. But still, I’d prefer her course. Rather than dad’s.  Furthermore, it was nice (for me) having her around. For a relatively long, long time. She was mostly in love with life. Dad wasn’t. He committed suicide. But I learned acceptance. And learned, too, to fall in love. In many ways. With two true loves. Imagine that. Two true loves. In a single lifetime. My wife died after 38 years of marriage. Of Alzheimer’s. But now I have an Italian true love. I live with her in Sardinia (a Mediterranean island paradise) in the winter. She comes to me, in summertime, in Minnesota. When we aren’t together in the flesh, we still connect. On Skype. And in spirit.  Life is good.  Little wonder. I’m in love. With life. I’m imagining living forever. In the spiritual realm. Because I want to. Of course, I could become stressed. Over the rigors of life. I could opt out. At any time. Like my dad. Instead, I choose to be happy. To savor it all. To even find solace during down periods. Life and love. They come with prices attached. I’m willing to pay. For the pleasure of living. What about you? Is it time to count your blessings? –Jim Broede