Breeze whispers through my hair
As I sit on our favorite dock
A smile gently unfolds around me
As I remember the six oclocks.
It was here we said I love you
It was here, our kiss began
It was here you took me gently
By clinging onto another’s hands.
Now a year has passed between us
We said goodbye to summer gone
We said we’d write each other
And never forget our song.
The time ticked by so slowly
Then sped it up my months
I’d give anything my darling
If we could one time more, just touch.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have self-diagnosed for so long. I went to the doctor today and learned that exercise programs are out for me now. I can do yoga, he said, as long as I go slow at it.
My Parkinson’s is advancing just a touch. Today I spent a few times hugging the wall, as my balance is off more today than usual. It seems anything I place in my hands, makes my hands tremor. I can barely write my name now a days.
I have spent too much time going back to the past and reliving my better moments. It’s fun and yet makes me cry, as I realize age is gaining on me.
I was asked if I wanted to be placed on depression pills, but I am afraid I will sleep all day, so I said no for now. I swear I can kick this. Perhaps Spring will make a difference. The smell of fresh air, seeing green grass again, being able to go out with my camera again.
To be quite frank, I never dreamed losing my brother could place such a deep pit in my heart. I can go to my son’s house and visit, and I am so happy. I go home and within a day, I am sad again.
I hate this my friend, I really do. I have always been told I am a survivor, so I will survive though this. I have too much to live for. I know God isn’t done with me yet.
I am going to go on U-Tube and look up Yoga classes. The doctor said it will help my balance, so why not give it a try, right? I also learned that Parkinson’s can bring on teary eyes and sad times. Thank goodness I do have good days.
Well, I just wanted you to know I am still around. I have been writing a lot of poetry but not near as much short stories. Things have to get better, they must.