I spent ten minutes before work this morning planting some seeds that have been hanging around my house for years.
A set of three herbs, complete with three zinc pots and a tray you’re supposed to put on a sunny windowsill (if you don’t have a cat).
Ten minutes previously I’d been lying on my sofa, shattered, buzzing with nerve pain and with a weird flicking tremor in two of my fingers. The usual.
Today was different; it marked the 40th anniversary of my dad’s death from MS complications, at the age of 35.
I’m now 44 and wasn’t even properly diagnosed until I was 37.
Years and ages to one side, living with a chronic, progressive illness speeds life up. The questions and fears you once expected to face in your 60’s become more or less commonplace in your 20’s or 30’s.
The positive side to this is it makes you concentrate on what makes your life meaningful. The flip-side is terror and anxiety. The trick is to outweigh the fears with the joy. Easier said than done.
So today I wanted to make something grow. The herbs might not, but the hope is there and when The Boss picked me up for work, I was beaming from ear to ear despite sadness.
I can’t solve every problem with happy thoughts and actions and I don’t expect life to always look as beautiful as it did this morning. Life with MS is an endless round of awful symptoms I dampen down with medication and a fair sprinkling of Anglo-Saxon language.
Life is short but so are our memories. If anyone has ever broken an arm or a leg, I bet we can all remember thinking, ‘wow, I’ll never take you for granted again, dearest arm/leg’; But we do.
I hope my herbs will grow and they’ll give me a great excuse to make some pasta. And more than anything, I hope I can enjoy every day, no matter what MS, or life, throws at me.