I'd Tell You

I have often been told to write a book about my story. About my unique, beautiful life. I'd love to. I'd tell you everything. 

How it feels to look through the eyes of death into the eternal light. 

How it feels to touch the hand of God, how it feels to let it go and come back. 

How it feels to get another chance to live, how it feels to understand that the pain is not over, it will continue, until you touch the hand of God once again, and still being grateful for the chance. 

How it feels to understand you have this only one chance, that even with the creased, grumbled body nobody knows how to handle, it's your only one, and it's only you who can make it either beautiful and precious, or indifferent path of bitterness and dark pain.

How it feels when you don't know if this is the last breathe or if your body still gets the strength to take another one, there, just there, in front of your children, about the evenings lying unconscious on the floor and your children covering you with a blanket of love.

How it feels to hear your heart might now have finally given up, to see the worried, kind eyes of a doctor and accepting it all.

How it feels to realise you have to give up your life, your dreams, your entire being, your self, and start all over again.

 

How it took so many years, so many tears, through the pain, through the sorrow, through the illnesses, through a brain injury, through oh so much, to get here where and who I am today, me just as I am, with nothing else, nothing more, or nothing less.

How it feels to understand you need to be strong enough to live but vulnerable enough to love.

Only, I might never get the chance. If I do, I will. I promise. As this is the beautiful, unique life of mine. And remember, yours is too.