Most times when I write this column, I have some sage-like advice to impart to those of you who honor me by reading my words. Usually these lessons I speak about have been learned over years and years of dealing with the trials and tribulations of living with Rheumatoid Arthritis. It always touches me when someone writes in to tell me how much they enjoyed reading my work, and how much better they feel knowing that there is at least one other person on this Earth who is feeling the same emotions as they are. Lately, though, I have been in need of a helping hand myself. One particular issue plaguing me has weighed upon my mind during many a sleepless night. Until this past weekend, that is.
Lately, I’ve been having trouble dealing with mortality. My own mortality, to be more specific. The more I think about the time I have left on this Earth, the more nervous I get. Why? Because I sense a fundamental change in my life coming in the very near future, and changes like that have always scared me. Passing from one stage of my life into the next is regularly a difficult time for me, but this transition is proving especially troublesome.