Only For

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.

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.

“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.