We Could Be Hit By A Bus Tomorrow

Since I started facing my own personal countdown clock and mused about the not insignificant question of "how long" I have left, my mom will quickly insert that nobody knows the real answer to this question and reminds me of the bus thing - not that I spend a lot of time walking in traffic lately. And it is true that not even my learned specialist nor my family doctor can give me a date with any particular accuracy. Everyone's journey through something like this is unique - our bodies hard-wired to react to things in their own sweet time -sending you the signals - the symptoms - like smoke rings circling in the sky - imparting information that you can try to ignore, but with tremendous difficulty. If I am outdoors and I find myself face to face with a crow in our yard - I'll wonder if it, like a vulture, is aware of my imminent demise. Is that the reason it is staring at me wih such intensity? For a controlling person, this lack of certainty is perhaps the hardest thing to take - though not nearly as frightening as the prospect of coming to the time when I may be totally dependent on other people to get around. All of the little routines in one's life that some stranger may somehow have a hand in - that more than anything else - is the thing I dread the most. But time will tell when or if that moment comes along - and its not telling - it's keeping its mouth shut. The music swells in the background - waiting for the climax of this adventure and all I can say for now is let the band play on.