Once upon a time (and admittedly, I love that phrase) it was always a challenge to “Do better,”
One memorable year I faithfully attended Weight Watchers. Each Wednesday afternoon I was determined to eat more tuna fish and Munster cheese and avoid the perilous pitfall of carbohydrates. Weekly, I resolved to “do better.”
Earlier in life as each of the Fabulous Four arrived, I quietly prayed to “Do better” as a Mother, a role in life I had never anticipated or was prepared to handle well.
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During the time my beloved was ill, I knew I had no choice. I had to “Do better.” With the help of my Maker I met that challenge. It was, of course, one that was a requisite of love, and also a privilege.
Today is different. And it is due to age. A time of life that defies definition until the door of reality suddenly opens for you.
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“Doing better” no longer appears to be an option. There are other choices that take its place in my now curving path.
I have learned that aging requires a person to strive to maintain the strength they still have. I now must scrupulously avoid the perilous pool of depression that is so inviting, and constantly beckoning me to join its whirling circle of sadness.
Yet in my heart of hearts, I must admit no longer can I “do better.”
I can strive to maintain dignity even as my steps falter.
I can smile when I am tempted to weep,
and I can still hold out my hand in friendship to those in need.
But no longer can I “Do Better.”
That is a privilege denied to old age.
