From as far back as my memory serves me,
My physical illness has been with me.
Side by side it has been a constant companion,
Shadowing my form as I have walked through time.
It seems to have been the yardstick against which all of my worth has been measured.
There would be many years of a self-imposed war,
Fighting battle after battle against myself to overcome the imperfections of the illness.
Being perfect would have to make up for what the illness had stolen away,
For perfection was something I thought I had control of.
The wounds from these hard fought battles would be the food that sustained the illness,
And ultimately gave it the strength to become a thing much bigger than my own will.
I would lose the final battle, I could not go on.
The war was over and the illness had won.
It was at this time when I thought I could not go on,
That I found a friend to hold my hand as I walked,
A companion, an Angel to help and guide me.
It was in the light of this love that I could truly be myself.
All that was good, all that was bad, and all that was ugly.
I am learning now how to stop fighting the illness,
To see the beauty in the imperfections and how to let go of the struggle.
When life is more than I can bear and the illness is all that is left of me,
Together we will endeavor to see the beauty through the pain,
The happiness through the struggle,
The hope through the despair,
As I take my walk through the rest of time.
Photo by Tree of Life Artworks
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