As one gets older the thought occurs, “on my death bed what will be important to me?” Why wait till it’s too late consider it now and adjust life accordingly.
After my faith I think family will be in my top spot closely followed by others I love and humanity as a whole. Things, I think will be in the postscript if they feature at all, even achievements tend to deflate in value at such a time.
I wish so much instead this featured, doctors and nurses, teachers, police and fire men, farmers etc. Those that actually contribute worth to our society. I’m not against folks having fun, and some enjoy sports, no problem, but this is a mirror of where society’s priorities are so warped. It’s not only sports so many other high paid professions contribute little or nothing of benefit to society – some even do harm. (Better put your fingers in your ears lest I reach full rant LOL!)
“I’m not ready for this!” he yelled, as they rushed him through the field hospital. No one answered, just the syringe spraying its fountain of analgesic before plunging into his arm. They were taking off his leg for Christ’s sake! Strong hands held him down as he sank into darkness…
Light pervaded his eyes, as blinking, he re-emerged into consciousness. Panic surged. Grasping frantically joy erupted. It was there, solid flesh, without searing pain – the anesthetic? The strange thing was he was in his army fatigues and this was no hospital!
Before him stood monumental gates their scrolled iron work giving clear view. He watched as people thronged past. His side seemed strangely empty unbearably lonely, but within life thronged in happy abandon. He grasped at the iron work but a chain held it in place against him. He yelled to let him in, but they shook their heads smiling.
A familiar face wended through the throng.
“Dad!” Father smiled knowing his appearance heralded understanding. It hit Sam like a thunderbolt. Dad reached through the railing.
“It’s OK Sam, you’re not locked out forever, it’s just not your time yet.
“It’s the anaesthetic, an allergic reaction, but they’re fighting for you. If they fail the gate will open. You’ll have your leg here,” he nodded down at the sound limb, no longer a shattered mess of blood and bone.”
“But what about Jan and the kids?”
“You’ll have to wait till they come…” The gate quivered, but he no longer wanted entry, he wanted Jan, to hold the boys in his arms, be there as they grew up…
Darkness enshrouded him once more, all faded to nothingness.
Harsh hospital lights invaded his eyes. The leg was no longer there. It didn’t matter, he told himself, it would be waiting. For now Jan and the boys were more important.
(disclaimer – this photo is not me! lol!)
Why did I watch “The Ugly Truth” six times? It’s certainly not the coarse humor. I suspect I identify with the heroine. Since ever I can remember, those make over teams that haunt the malls made a bee line for me. Why? The answer is obvious. “This can make us look good!” It’s odd as an artist that I have zero affinity to fashion, hair and make-up, (I’m hopelessly inept).
In contrast my daughters tend to look like they stepped out of fashion magazines, stunning! I dare not compare just utilize their skills now and then – I do tend to “scrub up well” I just don’t seem to have that certain knack some women do.
It’s all relative of course. I get my share of compliments. I’m just really not sure on a scale of 1-10 how I score looks wise. A good friend (and admirer) said, “Just let us guys tell you.” Well I’m happy with that. Guys are so much easier to please!
But seriously girls, you know it’s true, few women dress for guys, most dress to look good in the ratings of other women (of course in doing so they also attract a fair number of guys.) Girls strut their stuff, sizing up the opposition, while others of us choose to take a non-competitive approach sitting on the side-lines. I suspect it’s a matter of confidence (every noticed how the girl with less natural assets can stand out above her more “gifted” counterparts?)
Then again maybe I’m just lazy or concerned with “more important matters”? I cringe thinking just how much time my daughters can spend in front of a mirror to obtain that perfect look. Generally speaking I’d rather spend it living, but just sometimes it would be nice to think I looked great!
I wonder if I’m “one of a kind” or do others think like me?